


as if that would matter (to two such as us)

by dahlkom



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, But they learn and grow so don’t worry, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, I promise this is not love is blind, M/M, Pining, She Was Pretty! AU, Slow Burn, Viktor does some shitty things, Yuuri also does some kinda shitty things, actually more like..., also, based on the drama She Was Pretty, but not like love is blind, falling in love despite appearances, my disaster boys :’), oh yeah there's gonna be so much fluff, pining is my specialty you see, you don't need to have seen the drama to understand this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28759659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahlkom/pseuds/dahlkom
Summary: When Yuuri's closest Phichit moved away from Hasetsu, Viktor had moved in next door. The long hair, chubby cheeks, mismatched teeth... none of it had mattered to Yuuri. They'd become inseparable.At least until Viktor moved away again.Now, at twenty-seven, Viktor finds Yuuri on Facebook. The only problem is...A lot of things can change between thirteen and twenty-seven, and Yuuri finds himself irreversibly tangled up with Viktor at every turn, no matter how much he tries to avoid it.Even though Viktor thinks he's someone else.(She Was Pretty!AU)
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 66
Kudos: 116





	1. chapter one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there my lovely friends~
> 
> I've been wanting to write this fic for forever and a half (more like two years), but until I moved back from Korea this last month I haven't had time to write anything.
> 
> As the tags say, this is based somewhat closely off of the k-drama She Was Pretty. I hope it's as fun to read as it is to write!

At twenty-seven years old, Katsuki Yuuri has become accustomed to a life without too many surprises. From biweekly rejection emails from interviews to taking the same subway line to and from his job waiting tables a few neighborhoods over in Tokyo, Yuuri’s day to day existence includes very little of the unexpected: just the way he likes it.

Unfortunately for Yuuri, two unexpected things are about to happen.

The first dings into his Facebook messenger inbox on a Wednesday evening.

“No way,” Yuuri breathes, frozen in front of his computer. His legs are stretched out beneath the coffee table before him, cushioned by the thin rug on the ground.

“What is it?” His housemate Phichit asks, scooting behind him on the sofa and peering over his shoulder at the message. Then: “Whoa… who is _that?”_

“Childhood friend,” Yuuri manages, clicking on the profile associated with the message. “I think?” The profile photo is a photo of a fluffy poodle, but as he clicks into the _about_ section, the information seems to match up. He scrolls a little bit, but there don’t seem to be any photos of Viktor himself; just more poodle photos and some status updates.

“Since when did you have friends with names like _Viktor Nikiforov?”_

“He's Russian," Yuuri tries to explain, slightly stunned. "He moved in next door when you moved away..."

“Wait,” Phichit says, squinting thoughtfully, in the way that makes his mouth purse up, catlike, and wrinkles zigzag across his forehead. “No way… not that weird, chubby kid with the long hair?”

“That’s him,” Yuuri confirms, the corner of his mouth turning up despite himself.

“I think you sent me a photo together once... I didn’t realize you two were such good friends?” Phichit wonders, scanning over the message.

**_Viktor Nikiforov_** _(active 7 minutes ago):_ _Hi Yuuri~!! (_ ＾▽＾ _)_ _This is the right Yuuri, right? Since you don’t have a profile picture I checked the hometown and it seems like it matches to me~~_ _It’s been_ so _long, hasn’t it? I had a hard time tracking you down since you haven’t posted anything in_ ages~!! (;* ▽ *;) _but I finally found the right page!_

“We were kinda close,” Yuuri says, because the words to explain it properly somehow aren’t there.

/ / /

_Viktor and Yuuri had been more than just close._

_During the summer of year five, Yuuri’s best friend, Phichit had moved out and a single Russian father-of-one had moved in._

_Yuuri remembers it to this day. He’d been less reserved as a child, and when he’d first glanced through a gap in the fence spotted Viktor's long silver-bond hair in the yard next door, he'd been intrigued._

_There weren't all that many kids with different colored hair and skin and eyes in Hasetsu. Sure, there were adults who came to his parents’ inn who spoke different languages and peered at him out of eyes that came in all shapes and colors and sizes, but at school, everyone was Japanese: dark brown eyes, straight black hair snipped perfectly to fit the dress code (hair dye was strictly forbidden), chattering on in the unaccented language of someone born and raised in this country. The only kid that Yuuri knew who was different was Phichit, but having a Japanese father and having lived next door since they were babies, the only thing that had really stood out about Phichit was his unusual name._

_Needless to say, Yuuri had never seen anyone like this kid before._

_“Hey there,” he’d called out, boosting himself up on one of the garden ledges to peer over the fence. “What’s your name?”_

_The newcomer had simply blinked at him, face blank, and taken two nervous, tiptoed steps backward._

_“What’s wrong?” Yuuri wanted to know, confused at the kid’s reaction. “I just want to be friends.” But he had already disappeared inside, leaving Yuuri to wonder how he had messed up._

/ / /

It takes Yuuri until late that night, when he’s lying in bed, to work up the courage to type a message back.

_Hi Viktor,_ he sends, and then hesitates, unsure what else to say.

The swiftness of the response surprises him.

**_Viktor Nikiforov_** _(active now):_ _Yuuri!_ _Thank goodness you replied, I thought I had the wrong person_ (个_个)

_No, haha_ , Yuuri writes awkwardly. _It’s me._

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _I can’t believe I found you! It’s been at least ten years since I last heard from you…_

Yuuri winces at that. The fact that they’d stopped talking had mostly been his fault, and he knows that.

He regrets it, too.

Still, it’s exciting to talk with Viktor, even if it is awkward after all this time. Viktor is one of the best friends he’d ever had, and Yuuri knows that he wouldn’t hold anything against him.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Yeah, it’s been a really long time. I’m sorry about that._

Yuuri pauses, then adds another message.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _What have you been up to lately?_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _You’ll never guess~!!_ _There’s a reason I searched you up_

That gives Yuuri pause.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Oh…? It’s a good reason, right?_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Of course! (_ _ᗒᗜᗕ_ _)_ _՛_ ̵̖  _Glad that you still have a sense of humor after all this time~_ _But here’s my news: I’m in Japan!_

He’s in Japan?

Yuuri sits up in bed.

That means… that means…

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _According to Facebook, you’re a city boy now!_ _Is it true that you’re in Tokyo?_ _If so, can we meet up? Or even if not I can come find you_

_missed you sooooo much~ I really really want to see you!_

Yuuri’s gut twists with multiple feelings at once. Excitement—of course he wants to see Viktor again; but also nerves—would Viktor be upset about the lack of contact? And of course…

When they were young, Yuuri had felt a tiny bit more than friendship toward Viktor.

Still, it’s been so long, and from what Yuuri knows about Viktor he won’t hold a grudge. At least, it doesn’t seem like he has been.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Yeah, I’m living in Tokyo._ _Where are you staying?_

He hestiates, then adds: _I’m free Friday night_

The reply is nearly immediate.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _So am I!!!_

Encouraged by Viktor’s enthusiastic response, they exchange general locations. Yuuri is surprised to find that Viktor is staying less than an hour away from him— _I live near my work,_ Viktor explains. _I’ll tell you more about that when we meet—_ and it’s easy to agree on a park only about half an hour away from either of them by public transit.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _I_ _t’s getting late now~ you should sleep!_ _See you in four days! (_ ﾉ _´_ ヮ _´)_ ﾉ _*:_ ·ﾟ ✧

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _See you then!_

Turning off his phone screen, Yuuri tosses it aside, grabbing onto his pillow and hugging it tight.

In four days, he’s going to see Viktor. Four short days. It’s been way too long since they’d seen each other, but it almost doesn’t feel like long enough to prepare himself.

Yuuri turns over and mushes his face into his bed, trying to squish the butterflies out of his system.

/ / /

_Even Yuuri knows that he was a pretty child. With neat, shiny black hair, a slender face with round, rosy cheeks, and giant brown eyes, eleven-year-old Yuuri enthralls nearly everyone he meets._

_His classmates are no exception. His friendliness, grounded in the carefree security of childhood, coupled with the fact that he has won a few regional ice skating competitions, has managed to boost him to number one in the school popularity ranking. He’s even received a few of confession notes from girls and boys in his class, though Yuuri is a lot more interested in skating and books than he is in this “dating” thing that fascinates the other kids._

_His teachers have always liked him too, though Yuuri can only assume it isn’t for his grades. He's pretty good at writing in Japanese, but his marks in math and science and English are, well… not spectacular. It doesn’t matter much to Yuuri; he's going to become a famous ice skater and ice skaters don’t need to know how to find the area of a triangle._

_Between skating lessons, school, and helping restock clean towels at his family’s inn, Yuuri’s life is pretty consistent, just the way he likes it._

_That is, until Phichit runs over one night in tears to tell him that he's moving across the galaxy._

_(Or, well, to Thailand, to be more accurate, but to eleven-year old Yuuri the difference is minimal)._

_It's the worst night of Yuuri’s life. Phichit isn't in his class at school, since he was a year younger, but they spent pretty much all the rest of their time together. They even have a secret entrance between their yards where one of the boards has come loose so that they can sneak between Phichit's house and Yutopia undetected._

_“It’s not fair,” Yuuri blubbers in his mother’s patient arms. “I can’t_ live _without Phichit! He’s my only friend!”_

_“That’s not true,” Yuuri’s mother corrects gently, brushing his bangs out of his tear-sticky eyes. “You’ve got lots of friends at school.”_

_“Not really,” Yuuri pouts, his sobs fading into hiccups. “I don’t know them the way I know Phichit.”_

_“Well,” his mother says, hugging him tighter. “You’ll just have to write a lot of letters.” She doesn’t say_ you’ll make new friends _,_ _but her years of experience bleed into a hint of a smile anyway as she kisses his hair. “It’ll be okay, Yuuri.”_

_“No it won’t,” Yuuri mumbles into the warm fabric of her shirt, but his tears are already fading into yawns._

/ / /

“He’s in Japan? You’re going to meet him?” Phichit asks, turning away from his pan full of eggs at the stove. “Wow, what a small world!”

“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees, trying and failing to hide his hint of a blush. He quickly looks away from Phichit and clicks open a new tab on his browser, trying to remember what it was that he was doing before Phichit asked about his conversation with Viktor.

Unfortunately, Phichit knows him too well to miss that kind of cue. “Hmm,” he murmurs, studying Yuuri for a moment before turning back to the eggs. “So it’s a date?"

“W-what? No!” Yuuri sputters. “What on earth—of _course_ it’s n—“

“The accused doth protest too much,” Phichit chuckles. Then he points at him judgmentally with his spatula. “Yuuri, I’ve known you for basically your entire _life_. I know a crush when I see one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yuuri responds haughtily, remembering finally that he was supposed to be opening a job application portal. “Until you start making sense, I’m going to ignore you and be productive. At least that will make _one_ of us.” He rearranges his feet beneath the coffee table, tucking his bare toes under his right leg for warmth.

“You wound me." Phichit transfers the omelette to a plate, bringing it over to the table where Yuuri is sitting. “I even made you breakfast.”

Yuuri blinks. “This is for me?”

Phichit snorts. “Yeah, stupid. You didn’t eat yet.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, blankly. It hadn’t even really occurred to him. “Uh… thanks.”

“Don’t thank me.” Phichit waves him off. “You don’t even have food on your shelf of the fridge, anyway. Who knows if you’d be alive if it weren’t for me?”

A tiny wave of guilt washes over Yuuri. He _does_ need to go grocery shopping, but he’d run out of money faster than he had anticipated this month, and he’d been hoping to hold off a few more days. Waiting tables doesn’t make much of a dent in Tokyo living prices, not to mention his student loans. “Sorry,” he adds. “I’ll go grocery shopping soon. I just… I need a real job.”

“Oh, please. I should be paying _you_ for being the reason I can even _live_ in this place. If it wasn’t for you my father would force me to live at home, you know he would.”

Yuuri knows this. It’s the only reason he agreed to let Phichit cover 100% of the rent on such a nice place; he knows what Phichit’s father is like and realizes that having his own space is payment enough.

Still… “I _am_ going to starting paying 50% when I get a job,” Yuuri reminds him, glancing back at his computer screen with more resolve.

“Keep dreaming,” Phichit laughs. “But you do need to get a job, if only so you’ll stop coming home from work at four in the morning.”

Yuuri frowns, unable to argue with that. The late night bar shifts are pretty killer. He takes a bite of the omelette that Phichit made him, and it’s delicious, of course. Phichit is a great cook. “Thanks,” he says again. It’s an unspoken agreement to drop the rent argument, at least for now.

“No problem. How is the job search going, by the way?”

“Meh.” Yuuri’s forehead wrinkles. “I had two rejections yesterday, so.”

“Alas! Two more companies which cannot see the value of such a beautiful, talented, cultured young man—ow!” Phichit rubs the spot where the couch pillow had hit him in the face.

“You know what it is,” Yuuri mopes. “An average GPA from a basically-unheard of university, no job experience, and… well…” He gestures generally to himself. “I don’t exactly cut a dashing figure in a suit.”

_“I_ think you’re the most handsome man in Japan,” Phichit counters.

“And you must be due for an appointment at the optometrist,” Yuuri retorts, poking at his stomach. “I never have been able to lose this extra weight since high school.”

“Impressions aren’t everything,” Phichit says comfortingly. “It’s not like it has any impact on the work that you do.”

“Tell that to the interviewers,” Yuuri mumbles, leaning back to melt against the couch. “I just can’t compete with all the well-dressed young people who are fresh out of college.”

“So what?”

“What do you mean, so what?” Yuuri turns his head to look Phichit in the eye. “It’s easy for you to say with all your designer label clothing and _perfect_ job…”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “Come on, you know it’s all my dad’s stuff… and I’d always buy you clothing or do your hair if you wanted me to.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Yuuri counters, reaching up to touch whatever the result of his three-hour-old bedhead is.

“It _is_ standing straight up right now…” Phichit shrugs. “You probably just need a haircut. Maybe before you go meet the love of your life on Fri— _ow!!_ Hey, that actually hurt that time!”

“Maybe you better stop before I run out of couch pillows and have to switch to something harder,” Yuuri responds tartly. “Don’t you have work in an hour?”

“Shit,” Phichit agrees, looking at the time. “Okay, I better get ready. But the haircut conversation isn’t over.”

It’s Yuuri’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he says in Phichit’s general direction as he retreats into the bathroom. “Viktor never cared about stuff like that, anyway.”

/ / /

_Yuuri hasn’t seen the new kid much since that first exchange in Phichit’s old yard. No matter how much he peeks out the window or between gaps in the fence, there has been no sign of silvery hair in sight._

_He had found out some more information about him from overhearing his parents talking to other people in the neighborhood._

_Apparently the new family was from Russia, a country Yuuri only really knew from his history textbooks. (Privately, Yuuri wondered if everyone in Russia had silver hair). There was an international academy not too far away, and according to neighborhood gossip, the new boy’s father was coming to teach Russian. There was no mother, at least not that anyone had seen, though Yuuri was too young to understand the accompanying judgement wrapped up in the voice of the cucumber lady at the marketplace as she handed Yuuri’s mother her bag of produce._

_However, after a few days, the talk died down, and Yuuri’s curiosity had to be satisfied with gazing out at the empty yard._

_“What do Russian people like?” Yuuri asked the next night at dinner. “Do they like cookies?”_

_Yuuri’s parents exchanged a look. “Well…” his father began. “I guess I don’t rightly know. Why don’t you find out?”_

_And that was how Yuuri, accompanied by his older sister Mari and a tin of store-bought cookies, ended up on the doorstep which had formerly belonged to Phichit._

_“…should I ring the doorbell?” Yuuri whispered, glancing nervously at his sister._

_Scoffing in typical teenage annoyance, Mari reached over his head and rang it for him._

_To Yuuri’s (slight) disappointment, the person who answered the door was not the boy he’d seen a week earlier, but a man with equally fascinating silvery hair._

_Yuuri doesn’t realize that he’s staring until the man says something he doesn’t understand, and it isn’t until Mari replies that he comprehends that it's English._

_Darn. English isn’t exactly Yuuri’s strongest subject. Honestly, he hardly remembers anything except for_ thank you _._

_“Thank you,” Yuuri says in English, and hands the man cookies._

_He looks surprised, and Mari snickers. “You know you just said thank you when you gave him a gift, right?”_

_Yuuri blinks. “It doesn’t mean nice to meet you?”_

_“No,” Mari confirms, obviously amused. She says something else in English, and the man’s face softens into a smile._

_“Thank_ you _,” the new neighbor says in return, and Yuuri is coherent enough through his embarrassment to understand that. Nodding, he tries to hide behind his sister. “Um… do you know if the boy is home?”_

_Mari translates that into something that is apparently understandable in English, and the response is a head shake. “He’s in the middle of a Japanese lesson,” Mari explains. “Otherwise he would come and say hi.”_

_Well, that was that. Yuuri pouts slightly. Apparently today was not the day when they were going to meet._

_The problem was, Yuuri didn’t know when that day was going to be._

/ / /

To Yuuri’s surprise, when school starts again in the fall, the new neighbor kid is in his class.

Even luckier is the fact that his former seatmate just transferred schools, so the seat next to him is open.

“This is Viktor from Russia,” their teacher announces. From his place in the middle of the classroom, Yuuri can hear snickers. “I expect you all to be helpful and kind, especially since he is still learning Japanese.”

“He looks like a girl, don’t you think Yuuri?” The boy sitting behind him whispers.

Yuuri ignores him politely. It’s true that Viktor stands out in about a million ways. Apart from being on the chubby side and having such an interesting hair color, his hair also nearly falls to his waist. It’s pulled back behind his head in a tall ponytail. Yuuri finds it mesmerizing. Actually, he finds _Viktor_ mesmerizing, from the top of his head to his mismatched front teeth to the wispy tips of his hair.

“Any volunteers to sit with Viktor?” The teacher asks, and Yuuri’s hand shoots up, to the shock and amazement of the rest of the class.

“You want to sit with _him?”_ The boy behind him hisses. “No way! Nanako was going to volunteer to sit with you, why would you—“

“ _Jun,”_ Their teacher bellows. “No talking in class.” She points at the seat next to Yuuri and gives Viktor a gentle push. “Sit next to Yuuri, please.” She raises an eyebrow in his general direction. “It might help your English grades, Yuuri.”

Yuuri blushes and sinks in his seat, hoping that Viktor doesn’t understand enough Japanese to have picked up on that.

“Hi,” he whispers as Viktor slides into the seat next to him.

Shyly, Viktor meets his gaze. “Hello,” he repeats, his accent noticeable but not indecipherable. It’s not as hesitant as Yuuri expected, and Yuuri hopes that means that Viktor speaks more Japanese than he thought.

Yuuri wants to talk more, but the teacher is already calling his attention back to tectonic plates, so he instead offers a smile and turns back to his notebook.

/ / /

_The other students don’t take so quickly to Viktor, but any serious bullying that might have taken place is nipped in the bud by Yuuri, who defends Viktor so ferociously that none of the other girls and boys dare to say a mean word to him. Yuuri may not be accepting any confessions, but his popularity is strong enough to shield Viktor at least._

_At recess, Yuuri finds out that Viktor’s Japanese isn’t so bad. His sentences are choppy, and sometimes they have to play something like charades to find the names of words that he doesn’t know, but evidently he’s picked up something from the Japanese lessons that his father had mentioned._

_Thinking back to the first time he’d seen Viktor, it occurs to Yuuri that Viktor might just have been shy about speaking Japanese to someone new._

_“Before coming here, I lived in Tokyo,” Viktor explains with only minimal pauses. “One year.”_

_“Wow!” Yuuri says, shoving a rice ball into his mouth. “That’s cool. I’ve only been to Tokyo twice.” He glances at Viktor’s lunch, which is school issue. “Your mom doesn’t make you lunch?”_

_He realizes his mistake a beat too late. Viktor’s face twists slightly. “Umm…. no mom. Dad cooks bad.”_

_“Oh. Right.” Yuuri shoves more food in his mouth, trying to pretend he’d never asked. “What do you do for fun? Before you came my friend Phichit lived in your house and we always skated together. Do you like to skate?”_

_Viktor just blinks at him, so Yuuri tries another route, pulling out his phone and showing him a picture of a pair of figure skates. “Do you like it?”_

_“Don’t know,” Viktor says doubtfully._

_“Want to try it? With me?”_

_“Um…” Yuuri can see the gears turning in Viktor’s head as he tries to understand. “Yes? Maybe?”_

_Yuuri takes it as a yes. “Let’s walk home from school together,” he gushes. “I’ll take you skating on the weekend!”_

_As they pack up their lunches, Yuuri realizes that he might have finally begun to make a new friend._

/ / /

“Hey!” Yuuri yelps, swatting at the hand that had found its way to his ass. “Not okay, dude.”

The man attached to the offending hand chuckles, gaze not entirely focused. He probably doesn’t even know whose ass he’s touching.

_Great,_ Yuuri thinks. _Drunk customers._ His stomach turns.

“M’bad,” he slurs, turning back to his table.

Yuuri moves out of the guy’s reach, finishes setting food and drinks down at the next table, and heads to the back to tip the manager off about table five.

Then it’s to the kitchen to pick up table thirteen’s orders, and back into the wild. Yuuri glances at his watch: 12:13 AM. He’s got less than an hour. He can make it.

If only he had a real job and he could quit working at this hellhole. Yuuri’s not such an impatient person, but late hours, rowdy customers, and being understaffed like this would wear even the most patient of workers down over time.

Trays in hand, Yuuri approaches table thirteen, setting down a round of beers and fried chicken. “Enjoy,” he says, then grimaces as one of the men grabs at his wrist.

Great. More drunkards.

“Hey,” the guy says, and his grip is annoyingly tight; it takes Yuuri longer than expected to extract himself. “How come we gotta have you as our waiter?”

“Excuse me?” Yuuri says, cocking an eyebrow. “Is there a problem with the food?”

“No, not the food,” another of them says, gesturing vaguely to Yuuri himself. “You. There’s a cute girl serving other tables, how come she can’t serve us, too?”

Yuuri follows his gaze to see Minako working her section on the other side of the restaurant. “This isn’t her section,” he says icily, and bites back a retort about how they’re restaurant staff, not objects. He doesn’t want to argue too much and risk getting himself fired.

“Yeah, but.” The dude hiccups, and has to pause for a second to collect himself. “Look at you. This place has gotta have better service than _that.”_

They all laugh, and Yuuri freezes. The world spins.

It cuts deeper than a stupid drunk comment should because Yuuri _knows._ He knows he’s not exactly eye candy, what with the weight gain he’d never managed to shrug off, the thick glasses, the unruly hair that had lost its childhood shine and become coarse. He _knows_ he’s not beautiful anymore.

But that doesn’t mean he has to stand there and let these strangers rub it in further. “I’ll get the manager,” he mutters, and excuses himself, dazed.

He’s not crying, he tells himself as his manager excuses him for a bathroom break. It’s the exhaustion getting to him.

Just the exhaustion.

/ / /

_Viktor’s Japanese improves by leaps and bounds all the time. Privately, Viktor’s father tells Yuuri’s parents in a combination of English and hand gestures that he thinks Yuuri is a big reason for that improvement._

_As their communication becomes smoother, Yuuri finds that Viktor is actually very outgoing, once he has the words to share all his thoughts. As it turns out, he had wanted to go to the school that his father teaches at, but his father wanted him to improve his Japanese and had sent him to the local school._

_“I’m happy he did now, though,” Viktor assures Yuuri._

_Yuuri makes good on his promise, too, and often drags Viktor along to the ice rink when he goes to practice. “I’m going to be a famous ice skater someday,” he tells Viktor, showing off his newly learned flip jump._

_They’re becoming incredibly close, practically spending all their time outside of school tramping around the neighborhood, running around by the seaside until the hot-sweet-potato seller scolds them for being too noisy, and doing homework at each other’s houses._

_Everything is going perfectly, and Viktor is even starting to get comfortable at school._

_That is, until one day when they run into Mrs. Yamamura in the hallway._

_Mrs. Yamamura is famous for being the strictest teacher in the school. There is absolutely no nonsense in her classroom, and everyone knows it._

_Viktor and Yuuri had been running (just a little bit) without looking where they were going (on their way to buy a snack during break time), and the person they had the misfortune of slamming into was none other than the scariest teacher they knew._

_“Running in the hallway?” She snorts, hands on her hips. “I would have expected better from you, Katsuki Yuuri.”_

_“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri says, hanging his head politely. He tugs on Viktor’s sleeve, trying to remind him to do the same, but it’s too late—Mrs. Yamamura is already distracted by something._

_Viktor’s hair._

_“What do we have here?” She hisses, reaching out to take the end of Viktor’s ponytail in her hand. “This doesn’t follow dress code.”_

_Normally, Yuuri would never speak up against a teacher. Even now it feels almost unthinkable, and the only reason he opens his mouth is that he knows what is coming next, and it fills him with dread._

_“Mrs. Yamamura,” he stammers, “Viktor is—he’s from Russia, he’s different, so he gets an exception—“_

_“There are_ no e _xceptions,” she retorts sharply. “Do you or do you not know that hair must be above the ears in this school? Not to mention the color…”_

_Scared, Viktor looks between the teacher’s angry face and Yuuri, as though he’s begging him to save him from the situation._

_“Please,” Yuuri begs. “Just talk to our teacher, just once, she’ll explain, his father already—”_

_“Did I not say that there are no exceptions?” She clicks her tongue, turning the ponytail over in her hand. “Follow me. Both of you, my office, now.”_

_“Yuuri?” Viktor whispers, frightened, as she strides off down the hall. “What… what’s going on?”_

_Yuuri’s heart is heavy. If he wasn’t so scared of this teacher, he would run for another adult right now. Even so, he contemplates it, briefly, before Mrs. Yamamura barks for them to hurry up. His legs move practically on autopilot._

_Before they know it, they’re in her office, and Viktor is plopped down in a chair._

_“When you don’t follow the rules at this school, then we help you do so,” Mrs. Yamamura huffs, banging open a drawer._

_Viktor’s eyes go huge at the sight of a large, sharp pair of scissors. He shakes his head vigorously, crossing his wrists in an x-shape that obviously means “please, no.”_

_The teacher ignores him. “Sit still,” she says, and Yuuri isn’t sure which of them, Viktor or Yuuri, winces harder as the harsh snip of the scissors cuts through the air._

_A long chunk of beautiful, silver-blond hair flutters to the ground. It’s tragic, and Yuuri’s eyes well up._

_“No,” Viktor whispers, but it’s quiet this time. It’s too late._

_Over and over, the scissors snip, until there’s a sizable pile of silver hair on the ground. It’s not a nice-looking haircut, but it is all shorter than his ears._

_Yuuri is visibly crying, and Viktor looks as though he wants to._

_“Now back to class with you both,” Mrs. Yamamura says, as though she’s just taught them a tough-love lesson and not cut off the most beautiful thing that Viktor has. “Don’t run in the hallways again or there will be more serious consequences than this._

_“Come on,” Yuuri says, taking Viktor’s arm in his. He refuses to look at the hair on the ground. “Let’s go.”_

_He practically drags Viktor out of the room, and wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his uniform._

/ / /

“Phichit Chulanont,” Yuuri accuses the second he walks in the door at nine in the morning. “Don’t tell me you just came home from _another_ one night stand.”

“Jesus, Yuuri,”Phichit mumbles, shrugging off his coat. He’s surprisingly put together for a morning after (though knowing Phichit it’s not surprising), but his face looks haggard. “It’s my life, you know. Let me have thirty seconds before you start lecturing, yeah?”

“I’d be fine with you doing whatever you want if I didn’t have to worry about you so much.” All frowns, Yuuri pours a cup of warm water and hands it to him. “Drink this.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Phichit protests, but he drinks the water all the same. “Thanks.”

“You look like this every time you come home from another random guy’s house, and you think I don’t need to worry?”

“I like sex,” Phichit says with more gusto than he looks like he really has in him. “That’s what I want, and that’s what I’m getting. I’m happy, okay?”

Yuuri is quiet for a minute. “Okay,” he says, because they have this conversation all the time and he knows Phichit well enough to know that it’s not going anywhere.

Phichit pauses for a moment as he takes in Yuuri’s worried face, then smiles and ruffles his hair. “Not everyone is waiting for their knight in shining armor. Some of us are more practical, Yuuri.”

Yuuri frowns. “I’m not—”

“Oh, then who’s this Viktor guy you’re meeting?”

“Hey,” Yuuri protests, flailing a bit in protest. “You know that’s not what’s going on!”

“Sure,” Phichit says, flicking his nose affectionately. “See? If you stop the mom lectures, I’ll stop teasing you about your ‘friend.’”

Not entirely satisfied, Yuuri plops down on the couch. He’s quiet for a minute. “You know it’s not the sex I’m complaining about, right?”

“We’ve been over this before,” Phichit sighs. “I know, I know, you’re just worried that I’m addicted to one night stands.”

“I just want to make sure you live how you _actually_ want to, for the right reasons.”

“Listen, there’s no such thing as a ‘bad reason’ when a hot piece of ass offers to take me home,” Phichit laughs, then sobers up when he sees Yuuri’s pout. “Okay, okay, I see your point. I’ll reform eventually, I promise.”

Yuuri picks up his computer, shaking his head. He knows that Phichit isn’t going to change, because again, he says this every time. The problem really isn’t the one night stands, per se. It’s that Phichit is lonely and his family is dysfunctional and the only meaningful relationship in his life is his friendship with Yuuri, and Yuuri knows it, and Phichit knows it, and is completely unwilling to confront it.

Yuuri understands, though. They both have their own messes. Yuuri had been there when Phichit had moved back from Thailand after his mother’s passing back in high school and messily reintegrated into his father’s family. He’d been there when Phichit’s stepmother had made him cry, when he’d started working in management at his father’s restaurant chain, when he’d missed his mother, and all the moments in between.

And in return, Phichit had been there for him when he’d failed at the Japanese figure skating Nationals and chosen to quit skating. He’d remained a good friend through college and beyond, and defended him just as fiercely before and after he’d gained weight.

So yeah, they had their own messes.

But that’s what best friends are for, right? To clean up each other’s messes.

“How’s the job hunt today?” Phichit is changing the subject, but Yuuri doesn’t entirely mind. He can tell that this conversation is closed for now.

“I have an interview tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s good!”

“It’s at _Icon!_ magazine,” Yuuri adds, and Phichit’s head pops up from his phone.

“You’re looking for a job at a fashion magazine?”

Yuuri barks out a laugh at the thought. “Of course not! Well, I mean, technically yes, but in the administrative management department. Absolutely nothing to do with clothing or style.”

“Ah,” Phichit says. He looks back at his phone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuuri pouts. Between them, Phichit is the one who cares about clothing, but it’s not like Yuuri is a fashion disaster or anything.

Phichit raises his eyebrows. “I mean… look at yourself…”

Yuuri does. He’s wearing a faded yellow t-shirt with a slightly frayed collar and the remains of the word “PHANTOM” across the chest, plus gray sweatpants with a hole near the ankle. “I’m comfy…” he mutters, not meeting Phichit’s gaze.

“Just saying,” Phichit shrugs, biting back a laugh. “You wearing that on your date with Viktor on Friday?”

“Not a date!”

“Sure, Yuuri,” Phichit sings as he exists the room, narrowly dodging the couch cushion this time. “I mean, your outing with your ~completely platonic friend~ Viktor. _Totally not a date.”_

/ / /

_Later that night, Viktor and his father are at Yuuri’s inn, as Yuuri’s father and Mari help him translate some very angry sounding English phrases over the phone to what Yuuri can only assume is the principal._

_Yuuri’s mother is busy trimming Viktor’s hair, fixing the messiness of the slapdash haircut he’d receive in Mrs. Yamamura’s office. “Doing this to a child should be a crime,” she fumes. “It was old fashioned in our day, and it should be illegal by now.”_

_Gone is the sadness of earlier, replaced on Viktor’s face by resignation. “It’ll grow again,” he says softly._

_“It will!” Yuuri agrees, determined to be nothing but encouragement. “And it looks nice now that Mom fixed it up some.”_

_Viktor’s smile is a little wan, and he’s quiet for a moment. Yuuri doesn’t anticipate the next thing he says. “My mom is the last person who cut my hair.”_

_The three of them pause._

_“Oh,”Yuuri says._

_“I… I didn’t want to cut it again.” Viktor sighs. “Maybe it was a little silly. I guess I would have had to cut it eventually, anyway.”_

_“Sweetheart,” Yuuri’s mom says, putting down the scissors to wrap him up in a hug. “This should have been your decision. I’m so sorry.”_

_Viktor shakes his head. “What’s done is done. I’ll be okay.”_

_There’s something in his voice that Yuuri doesn’t quite understand—a kind of resolve, strength that Yuuri hasn’t really seen before. In that moment, Viktor seems older than their eleven years. It stirs something in Yuuri’s stomach, something warm that he has never felt before._

_Maybe something a little like affection, or admiration._

_Pulling back, Yuuri’s mom takes Viktor’s shoulders in her hands, tilting him from side to side. “Looks good to me. What do you think, Yuuri?”_

_“Very cool,” Yuuri affirms, snapping himself out of his thoughts with only the lightest blush._

_“How about Katsudon for dinner?” she suggests brightly. “Your father too, Viktor. I’m sure we’ve all had enough excitement for one day._

_“Did somebody say Katsudon?” Yuuri’s father asks, popping his head in. “By the way, the principal apologized for what happened and promised that it won’t happen again. To anyone.”_

_“Fantastic!” Yuuri’s mother beams._

_Yuuri gives Viktor a shy smile, and Viktor smiles back, warmer than earlier._

_“Does it really look okay?” He whispers, leaning over to Yuuri’s ear._

_“It looks great,” Yuuri affirms._

_“Handsome, even?”_

_Yuuri’s tongue gets tied for a moment. “Y-yes,” he agrees._

_“Good.” Viktor winks at him, completely silly, and whatever it was that Yuuri had felt a moment ago fades. “Let’s go help cook! I want to learn.”_

/ / /

Standing at the entrance to the _Icon!_ Magazine building, Yuuri looks up into the sky to the very, very distance top of the building and takes a deep breath. He straightens his tie, which looks _just fine,_ thank you very much (Phichit had tried to convince him to borrow one), and checks his watch. 20 minutes before the interview. Perfect.

Following the flow of people, he lets himself get swept along inside. After checking in at the front desk and getting an elevator pass, he makes his way to one of the giant elevators and tucks himself into a corner, behind a much taller person.

One of the benefits of such a busy building is that no one seems to pay him much mind. But when he gets out on the fifty-third floor and makes his way down a hallway to where the other interviewees are waiting, he begins to get nervous.

It’s the same as it always is. Yuuri knows immediately that he must be the oldest one there. Nerves clench over his stomach, suddenly, and he finds that he needs to sit down.

The few minutes left until the interview feel like hours, but finally the door at the end of the lobby opens and they usher the first five candidates in. Yuuri is among them.

Yuuri wonders if everyone can hear his heart pounding in the stillness of the conference room. The clack of the paper stack tapping against the desk before them as one of the interviewers shuffles resumes into a neat pile seems to resound through the entire space.

For some unfortunate reason, Yuuri is on the far left, and that means he’s first.

“Katsuki Yuuri,” one interviewer, a middle aged man, notes. His voice sounds dull, almost bored, and he reaches up to adjust his glasses before giving Yuuri an unimpressed once-over. “You went to… Biwa University? Where is that again?”

“Shiga,” Yuuri says, his shoulders already beginning to droop. “It’s, um… a beautiful campus.”

“I see.” The stern-looking lady to the first interviewer’s right blinks at him. “Let me be frank, Mr. Katsuki. You’ve got an unimpressive university record, a mediocre TOEFL score, and no meaningful work experience other than part time jobs. What makes you think you would be a good fit for our company?”

Yuuri’s brain wants to blank, and he’s squeezing his hand under the table so tightly that it hurts, but he reminds himself, mentally, to keep breathing. “Well… I’m a hard worker,” he begins.

The first man begins to wave him off, but the third interviewer, the one that hasn’t spoken yet, holds up a hand. “Let him finish.”

Yuuri clears his throat. “Like I said, I’m a hard worker,” he says. “All these years of working part time have taught me the meaning of perseverance and given me a great work ethic. That’s why I have strong recommendations from every one of my jobs. Besides that, I have strong organizational skills and my university grades were good. I can adapt to just about any task, which I believe makes me a great fit for administrative work.”

The row of interviewers doesn’t look particularly impressed. “Thank you, Mr. Katsuki,” the third man says, before moving on to the other interviewers.

_Well,_ Yuuri thinks to himself, trying to steel himself for the coming group questions. _Could have been worse._

/ / /

_By the time they reach year seven, the two of them have become incredibly close. They’re at Viktor’s house today, lying side by side on the floor of Viktor’s room doing homework. Viktor’s dad isn’t home yet, so everything is quiet and still—it couldn’t be more different from the buzz of Yuuri’s family’s busy inn._

_Viktor’s looking at Japanese vocabulary, but Yuuri’s still stuck on English homework. Frustrated, he rolls over and looks at the ceiling, huffing. “It’s not fair, you know.”_

_“Hmm?” Viktor looks over at him. “What’s not fair?”_

_“You.” Yuuri pouts. “You’ve learning Japanese way faster than I’m learning English.”_

_“I’m living in Japan,” Viktor points out, poking his stomach playfully. “I have more chances to practice.”_

_“You speak Russian, too,”Yuuri points out, crossing his arms. “Plus, you’ve only lived in Hasetsu for a little more than a year._

_“You can ice skate! That’s cool!”_

_“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees, still sulking slightly. “But we don’t get grades for ice skating.”_

_Viktor laughs at it. “If you did, you would be the top student. Are you having trouble with English homework? I can help, if you want.”_

_“No,” Yuuri says stubbornly. “Well… maybe. It’s just the reading section.”_

_Viktor reaches across him to grab at his paper, almost lying on top of him for a minute as he feels around for the handout, and suddenly something occurs to Yuuri._

_It’s not a thought, not really anything coherent, just… a feeling. Something fluttering around in his stomach that is somehow sent into a flurry while Viktor’s form hovers over him._

_“Are you okay?” Viktor asks suddenly, peering down in concern._

_“Y-yeah,” Yuuri says, scrambling to sit up. “Fine.”_

_“Are you sure? You look red.” Viktor extends a hand to touch Yuuri’s warm forehead, but Yuuri shoves it away._

_“I need to go to the bathroom,” he manages, darting out of the room._

_Once he’s safely locked in the bathroom, Yuuri peers into the mirror, trying to calm himself down._

Crap, _he thinks._ Crap crap crap.

_At twelve years old, Yuuri realizes that he might have developed his first crush._

/ / /

“You’re going to see Viktor like _that?”_ Phichit asks, and Yuuri stops guiltily by the door. He may or may not have been trying to sneak out to avoid exactly this conversation.

“I always dress like this…” he mumbles, adjusting his shirt self-consciously.

Phichit raises an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen that weather before.”

“Didn’t have a reason to wear it.” Yuuri shuffles again. His stomach feels so strange. “Does it… does it look weird?”

“No!” Phichit says. “It looks… really good, actually. Just…”

Yuuri blinks, waiting for him to finish. “Just… just what?”

Phichit is quiet for a moment, then pulls something from his pocket and tosses it to him. “Your lips are chapped,” he says, before slipping back upstairs. “Be safe and text me!”

Yuuri watches him go, then looks down at his hand. It’s an unopened tin of lip balm. He smiles in the direction that Phichit went, then opens the tin and applies some.

The air is dry nowadays, after all.

/ / /

Yuuri is buzzing with excitement by the time he reaches the park. They’d agreed to meet at the center, near the fountain, so he heads there immediately. He’s still nervous, at least a little, but not as much as he’d expected considering the fact that he'd hardly slept last night. After all, it is Viktor. Adorable, funny, charming, chubby Viktor, with the silver-blonde hair and the front teeth that never quite lined up with the rest.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _I_ _’m here!_

He hesitates for a moment, then adds a _:)_ to the message.

Yuuri can see that Viktor is on the app, so he figures that he’ll see it. Yuuri is a couple minutes early, and it’s not the end of the world if he has to wait a few minutes.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _I’m running late, sorry~_ _just missed the first bus so I was a bit delayed…_ _Almost there, though!_

Yuuri doesn’t mind waiting.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _No problem!_

Standing by the fountain, he realizes that he really has no idea what to expect. Would it feel like meeting an old friend? Would it feel awkward? Or would it be like… well…

He doesn’t really care to dwell on the possibilities too much.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes again.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _J_ _ust got off the bus!_ _I’ll be there in just a minute_

_This is it,_ Yuuri thinks. He’s about to see Viktor again, after all these years. His palms are starting to sweat, and he fidgets, fighting the urge to mess with his partially-styled hair.

Another buzz—but it doesn’t end, and when Yuuri looks at his phone, he realizes that Viktor is calling him.

Crap. Oh crap. His fingers shake for a moment, but as the ringing continues, he realizes that he should pick it up.

Trembling, he brings the phone to his ear. “Hello…?”

“Yuuri!” It’s unmistakably Viktor’s voice, albeit deeper and fuller than Yuuri remembers. His accent has faded, too; he sounds a little less Russian than he used to. “I’m here! Where are you?”

“I’m by the fountain,”Yuuri tells him, his nerves fading away at the familiarity of Viktor’s voice. “Where—”

And then the world stops—slow motion, angels singing, the works, as far as Yuuri is concerned—because he happens to look across the courtyard and he spots someone who can only be Viktor.

It has to be—same silver hair, phone clasped to his ear, mouth moving in tandem to the words filtering through Yuuri’s own device. But… but…

He couldn’t look more different.

The Viktor Yuuri remembers is worlds away from this long-legged, sharp-jawed vision that is approaching from across the park.

Trying to gather his wits about him, Yuuri waves weakly, almost at the same time that Viktor starts waving as well and makes a beeline in his direction.

_Oh god,_ Yuuri thinks. _Oh crap. Shit. Fuck._ He has no idea how he is going to get within two meters of this man and still like, breathe. But he’s going to have to figure it out soon, because Viktor is almost to him, and—

Then he walks right past him to a nearby bench, and clasps the hand of a well dressed, slender young man who is on the phone. “Yuuri!” He exclaims, excited.

And that’s when Yuuri realizes.

He lets his hand holding the phone drop to his side as he watches the other man shrug Viktor off, confused and annoyed, with some iteration of “Fuck off,” and “You have the wrong person.”

He watches Viktor’s face fold in confusion, and he can hear his voice filter back through the phone. “Yuuri? Where are you—“

Yuuri doesn’t stick around to find out what happens next. He hangs up the call and _runs,_ as fast as he can, before Viktor can see him.

Because he realizes that he’s not what Viktor is looking for. Not fat, raggedy, twenty-seven-year-old Yuuri with no prospects or money and a crap ton of student loans.

He’s expecting beautiful, doe-eyed, shiny-haired Yuuri of eleven years old.

Yuuri can’t face him like this.

He turns his phone off and cries on the bus home, hiding his face by leaning against the window and draping his coat inconspicuously so that it shields him a bit. He’d gotten himself so wrapped up in this meeting, as though it was the beginning of a fairytale about to unfold. As though something was really going to transform his life.

Yuuri had forgotten. He isn’t the main character type.

And Viktor—looking like that, Viktor definitely is.

Sniffling, Yuuri wipes at his crying-hot face and wishes that he could disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @dahlkom if you have questions or want to chat!


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!
> 
> I meant to get this out sooner, but my dumbass (and I mean this most affectionately) cat has decided to vomit everywhere, apparently due to rapid eating???? (see: dumbass) so I've been trying to solve that. I love him the absolute most, believe me. I just don't love cat vomit.
> 
> Anyway... where were we? Ah, yes, the update. I am hoping to maybe? finish this before I move back to university in a few weeks so I'm crossing my fingers that I can finish these chapters quickly. Stay tuned for the next one in a few days, if I can manage it!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

When Yuuri arrives back at his apartment, Phichit is not there. _Small blessings,_ he thinks bitterly. He wants to be alone, at least for a bit.

He can’t keep his phone off forever, so he turns it on and leaves it on the kitchen counter while he goes to the bathroom.

When he gets back he has, as expected, a shit ton of messages, along with four missed calls. Squaring his shoulders, Yuuri looks through them.

\- 1 missed call: **Viktor Nikiforov** -

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Yuuri? Where did you go?_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Did the connection drop? Did something happen?_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Yuuri?_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Are you hurt?_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _You’re okay, right?_

-3 missed calls: **Viktor Nikiforov** -

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Text me when you can, please?_

Yuuri obviously can’t ignore the messages forever. He’s already regretting walking away at the park, but when he considers the prospect of meeting Viktor, who looks like _that,_ while Yuuri looks like… well… _this,_ with no job, no dreams, no prospects…

He just can’t.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Viktor I’m so so so sorry_

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _My housemate was in a car crash and I had to leave immediately to take him to the hospital_

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _I was a bit distracted so I didn’t answer my phone until now_

Guilt floods through Yuuri at telling such a lie to Viktor, but he can’t think of anything else off the top of his head that could explain him running off like that.

His heart leaps into his throat as Viktor’s profile icon drops below his last message, indicating that he’s read it. Three dots appear as Viktor types, and Yuuri sets his phone on the counter, holding his breath.

Just then, the door bursts open, and Phichit is suddenly there with groceries. “Yuuri! You’re home earlier than I expected, if you know what I mean… oh,” Phichit trails off when he sees Yuuri’s expression. “Oh. Um. Bad… date?”

Yuuri just stares at him, completely devoid of words, and then suddenly registers that his face is wet.

“Shit, Yuuri,” Phichit says, dropping the grocery bags to the floor and rushing over. “No no no, don’t cry, it’s okay, you don’t even have to talk about it, it’s okay!”

Yuuri furiously wipes at his tears as Phichit’s arms wrap around him. “Sorry,” he manages through the tears. “Gosh. Sorry. I don’t… sorry.”

“Shut up and stop apologizing,” Phichit mumbles, squeezing him almost a little too hard. “You’re not hurt, right? Not injured?”

“Not injured,” Yuuri confirms, peeling himself away gently as he pulls himself together. “Sorr- I mean, I just, um. Didn’t intend to cry. I’ll explain, I promise, just give me a minute.”

On the counter, Yuuri’s phone buzzes mutedly, so he picks it up to check the message, ignoring Phichit’s concerned gaze.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _It’s okay! I’m glad you were there with your housemate. I’m so sorry to hear about the accident._

Yuuri winces partially at the lie and also partially at the understanding Viktor is showing him: understanding which Yuuri absolutely does not deserve.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _I was just so worried when you hung up and disappeared. I guess I really just wanted to meet up, haha_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Next time tell me before running off, if you can~_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _We can meet another time soon, right?_

“Shit,” Yuuri says aloud before thinking better of it. What’s he going to do about _next time?_ Phichit can’t have a fake car accident every other day. Setting his phone down, Yuuri rubs at his temples, exhausted.

Vaguely he registers Phichit standing there, grocery bags still forgotten.

“Let’s sit down,” Yuuri says faintly. “I’ll explain.”

/ / /

_When Viktor turned thirteen, his father got him a dog._

_It was a very exciting affair, because Yuuri was in on the secret. After all, they were keeping the fluffy poodle at the inn in advance to hide him, and he was in charge of taking care of him before Viktor’s birthday._

_Yuuri could hardly hold the news of the surprise inside. Viktor had been talking about wanting a dog for ages, he even had a name picked out and everything, and Yuuri could just picture his happiness when he saw his birthday present._

_They had planned it to happen after school, so Viktor’s father had sent him to the market to pick up eggs so that they could set everything up._

_When he returned, his reaction didn’t disappoint._

_“Surprise!” everyone shouted, and the first round of shock appeared on Viktor’s face as he took in the cake and streamers._

_But then Yuuri, proudly bearing the most exciting task of all, came forward with the puppy in his arms._

_“Look, Viktor!” he beamed, holding out the fluffy brown poodle. “It’s for you!”_

_Viktor’s jaw drops. “You… you got me a puppy?”_

_“Well… your dad did,” Yuuri admits, grinning as Viktor gently lifts the puppy into his own arms. “Do you like him? Do you?”_

_“I love him,” Viktor says, solid with deep joy. “Thank you so much. Thank you, Dad.”_

_Viktor’s dad comes around the table to pat his hair fondly. “Happy birthday, Vichenka,” he says, smiling. “Say thank you to Yuuri. Yuuri gave me the dog idea.”_

_And oh—if Yuuri could only be the recipient of such a smile as that every day he should want nothing else. Trying to hide his blush, he approaches to pat the poodle’s head. “You have a name already, right?”_

_Viktor nods. “Makkachin,” he declares. “His name is Makkachin.”_

_Makkachin licks Viktor’s face in response, and they all dissolve into happy laughter._

/ / /

“So you essentially ditched him at the park,” Phichit asks, forehead wrinkled in thought.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, his head hanging low. “That’s… pretty much what happened.” He bites his lip, stressed. “Phichit, what do I do now?”

“You’re truly sure you don’t want to meet him?” Phichit asks, incredulous. “I mean, damn Yuuri, you might not be the model type but you’re not ugly!”

“I didn’t say I was ugly,” Yuuri counters tiredly. “I’m just… plain. And it’s not just that. It’s that… I’ve amounted to absolutely nothing in life, and Viktor is suddenly this well-dressed, attractive guy who obviously has a career going for him, and I… I just can’t face him like this.”

“What do you mean you’ve amounted to absolutely nothing in life? You’re Phichit Chulanont’s best friend!” Phichit says indignantly, laughing a little. “Besides, it’s not like he was hot his whole life, and you guys were close! I’m sure he won’t care about any of that stuff.”

Yuuri thinks back to the moment by the fountain and shakes his head. “I just can’t stop thinking of… of how he walked over to someone else. That’s what he’s expecting from me, don’t you see? That’s the Yuuri he wants to meet, and it’s not me. I can’t bear to disappoint him like that. I can’t bear to disappoint _myself_ like that.”

Phichit looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. For a long moment, he’s quiet, scratching at the back of his head. “You’re sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well… I guess there’s only one option left, then.”

Yuuri blinks. “Huh?”

“You have to tell him that you’re studying abroad in Korea, and you’re leaving tomorrow so you can’t possibly make time to say goodbye to him no matter how much you want to. There, boom, you end things with no hard feelings and he can’t ask you to meet up again.”

Yuuri blinks again. “That’s… that’s… actually kind of genius. Do you think he’ll actually believe it?”

“I mean, does he have any reason not to believe it?”

Yuuri has no idea what is going through Viktor’s head right now. “I guess it makes sense. I’ll try it.” Hesitatingly, he picks up his phone again and opens up messenger where Viktor’s invitation for “next time” is still waiting.

**Yuuri Katsuki:** About that…

**Yuuri Katsuki:** I was going to tell you when we met up, but I’m actually leaving tomorrow to study abroad in Korea, so I won’t have another chance to meet up with you

Yuuri chews on his lip for a minute, rereading the messages he’s just sent.

**Yuuri Katsuki:** The timing is terrible, right? :(

**Yuuri Katsuki:** I’m really sorry…

He sets his phone down again and flops back on the sofa. “Well, I guess that’s that…”

And then he sits right back up again because his phone begins to buzz with a call that can only be from Viktor. Yuuri stares at the incoming call for a split second before apologeticallyglancing at Phichit retreating to his room.

In the privacy of a separate room, he finally picks it up. “Hello. “ He tries to keep his nerves out of his voice.

“Hi,” Viktor says, and Yuuri’s heart lurches because he sounds _so, so, so_ sad. “Yuuri…”

“Y-yeah?”

“It’s true? You’re leaving Japan tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. In his lap, he clenches his hand hard, his nails pressing deep marks into his palm.

“When are you coming back?”

“Um…” Yuuri thinks quickly. “I’m not sure. I’m just starting my studies there, so…”

“Oh,” Viktor says. “The timing is really unfortunate… I guess you feel that way too.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri repeats, feeling very much like a broken record. “I’m really sorry.” It’s genuine.

“It’s not your fault.” He sounds absolutely miserable. Yuuri hates himself. “Well, you’ll keep in touch, right?”

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees, because what else can he say to that, after everything he’s doing? “I promise I will.”

It’s quiet for a tense moment, and then Viktor shuffles on the other end of the line. “It’s getting late. You should sleep, yes?”

“I should.”

“Right. Well, sleep well.”

“You too.”

“Good night.”

Yuuri stares at the _call ended_ screen until his phone screen times out and goes black.

He’ll keep in touch—at least for now. He tries not to think about how that will work in the future.

Actually, he tries not to think about the future at all.

Rolling over, Yuuri sticks his face into his pillow and tries as hard as he can to think about nothing at all.

/ / /

_It’s a Thursday evening in October, and Yuuri and Viktor are walking Makkachin along the seaside. It’s a little chilly, but not enough so that they’re freezing; just enough to make Yuuri’s ears blush and Viktor’s nose turn red behind his thick wool scarf._

_“Have you ever thought about what you want to be when you grow up?” Viktor asks him suddenly._

_Yuuri shrugs. “I dunno. A figure skater, I guess. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”_

_“You’d be good at anything you set your mind to, Yuuri.”_

_“Says you,” Yuuri fires back, narrowing his eyes at Viktor. His eyes trace over Viktor’s short, silvery hair and for a minute Yuuri misses his long style. Ever since that day when he’d had his hair cut in school, Viktor’s kept it short._

_Viktor’s changing in other ways, too; he’s shooting up in height much faster than Yuuri is. Yuuri could swear that they were the same height when Viktor moved to Hasetsu, but now he’s towering at least four or so centimeters taller._

_He’s not too different, though—still round cheeked and round bellied, with the front teeth that stick out. If Yuuri were braver, he might admit to himself that he liked the boyish charm of those misaligned teeth._

_Viktor laughs in response, pausing for a moment so that Makkachin can sniff the side of the path. “You know what I want to be?”_

_“What?”_

_“I want to have my own museum,” Viktor declares, grinning. “I love art. Or maybe a library. I like to read, too. I want to pick everything I like and put it together in one place so that people can enjoy it.”_

_“How about a museum-library?” Yuuri suggests, giggling at the idea. “You can put everything together. Maybe a restaurant, too, in case they get hungry.”_

_“Brilliant idea!” Viktor declares, and they both break down laughing. In the distance, over the harbor, a ship sails by._

_They walk in silence for a short bit after that, the only noise being Makkachin’s snuffles as he examines all the exciting things that there are for a dog to find at the edge of a sidewalk._

_“When I open my museum-library-cafe-restaurant,” Viktor says suddenly, “You’ll be there with me, right?”_

_It’s surprisingly serious-sounding, but Yuuri isn’t fazed. “Of course I will,” he agrees. “We can co-own it. When I’m not off skating, that is.”_

_They both laugh, and walk, and the sun continues its slow descent in the sky._

/ / /

The second event which will change the course of Yuuri’s life forever happens the very next morning.

When Yuuri wakes up, he feels absolutely nothing. That is, for about a minute, before he remembers the events of the night before, rolls over, and wishes he was still asleep.

He reaches for his phone, but as his fingers close around it, he hesitates. What if there’s a message from Viktor? What is he supposed to say to him now?

It’s not like he can avoid looking at it forever, though, especially when he needs to know what time it is. He has work in the afternoon, after all.

Blinking away his sleepiness, Yuri finally looks at his phone, catching the time—10:07 AM, fine. That passes.

That’s when he sees the email.

“PHICHIT!”

/ / /

“Phichit,” Yuuri whines, every logical fibre of his body telling him that this is a bad idea. “When I said ‘go out,” I was thinking more like, buying a bottle of wine and coming home for a movie…”

“Nonsense!” Phichit declares, practically dragging Yuuri into the line to get into the club. “My best friend just got _hired!_ We have to celebrate properly!”

_Whose idea of proper, though,_ Yuuri thinks with slight bitterness. _That is the question…_ He finally sighs in defeat. “Yeah, yeah, okay, but I’m not drinking.”

“Yuuuuuri,” Phichit whines, tugging at his sleeve. “You just quit your bar waiter job from hell!! And this will be your first drink as an emPLOY—“

“Shhhh,” Yuuri says quickly, clapping a hand over Phichit’s mouth and glancing apologetically at the others around them. “You’re not even _tipsy_ yet, my God. Also, I’m serious. I’m supposed to start tomorrow, and _you_ of all people should know what happens when I drink.”

Playfully shoving Yuuri away, Phichit sighs with an appropriate degree of drama before agreeing. After all, he _does_ know what happens when Yuuri drinks.

As they get closer and closer to the bouncer, it occurs to Yuuri that he, in fact, cannot believe that he has a job.

It’s a kind of cruel humor, too, that he had received the job offer from _Icon!_ magazine just after the events of the night before. Yuuri’s not complaining, though. What better way to move on from his regrets than to start completely over? It helps that he’d been able to slightly-dramatically quit his part time job on the spot, too—at least, it gave Yuuri some closure to what must have been one of the shittiest night-shift gigs he’d ever done.

His thoughts are cut off as they reach the door and have to show their IDs. Then Yuuri isn’t thinking of anything besides survival as Phichit leads him through the crowd to the bar, where he orders two shots immediately.

“One,” Yuuri tries to correct, but the bartender is already gone. “I’m not drinking, remember?”

“Don’t worry,” Phichit laughs. “They’re both for me. And even if you’re not drinking, you’re going to dance!”

“Huh?” Yuuri says, but Phichit is already downing both shots with impressive speed and ushering them off to the dance floor.

_It’s going to be a wild night,_ Yuuri realizes. He might as well resign himself to it.

/ / /

When Yuuri’s alarm goes off at 7AM the next day, he doesn’t exactly feel grateful for the night out.

Especially when he’s supposed start a totally new career today.

_At least it’s not a hangover,_ he thinks wryly.

To his surprise, he emerges from his room to find Phichit in the kitchen, complete with an apron and absolutely no sign of a hangover.

“You made me breakfast?” Yuuri says incredulously.

“It’s not every day that my Yuuri becomes a star employee,” Phichit beams, altogether exhibiting far too much energy for this hour of the morning.

“I just… wow.” Yuuri approaches, eyes widening. “You made _katsudon?”_

“Yup,” Phichit smiles. “I hear you guys eat _katsu_ for breakfast before exams, right?”

“Correct,” Yuuri says, kind of floored. The name’s similarity to the word for “winning” is thought to bring good luck. “You know it’s also like, my favorite food _ever,_ right?”

Phichit shakes his head. “That’s a bonus! I just searched it online; my mom always made me Thai food before exams. Oh, and chicken essence! I always had to drink that, too.” Phichit makes a face.

Yuuri is touched beyond coherent expression. “Thank you so much. It smells amazing.”

“Then you better hurry your cute ass up and eat it before you’re late for your first day,” Phichit chides him, handing him a hot bowl.

It’s delicious, as Phichit’s food always is, though Yuuri of course loyally believes that nobody’s _katsu_ is quite as flavorful, tender and crispy as his mother’s.

He offers to do the dishes, but when Phichit waves him off and chides him not to be late for work, he agrees without much fight. Seeing as it’s his first day, it will help to have a little extra time to get his bearings.

Opening his closet, Yuuri wonders for the first time in a long time if Phichit might have been right about his clothing choices. He owns about four threadbare button-down shirts in varying shades of black, gray, and white, along with one pair of black slacks (the only pair that still fits him from high school), and one jacket, just in case of something formal.

_At least my outfit will match_ , Yuuri thinks. It’s hard to go wrong with black and white. Maybe a few paychecks in, he can think about buying new clothing.

Picking a plain white shirt, red tie, and one of the pairs of slacks, Yuuri showers and gets dressed. Amid the fading steaminess of the bathroom mirror, he tries and fails to fix his hair. A comb and some gel at least make it _mostly_ lie down, and as the clock hits eight, Yuuri knows it’s time to call it good enough.

“Bye, Phichit!” he calls as he runs out the door.

(On his way to work!)

(At a real company!)

/ / /

_Yuuri and Viktor always walk home together. They live right next door to one another, so it really only makes sense._

_But today, Viktor disappears in the chaos of after-school club finishing and everyone rushing for the doors, and he’s nowhere to be found. Yuuri looks all around the yard, but there’s no sign of Viktor anywhere._

_“Crap,” he whispers, as he realizes that it’s raining. Yuuri hates rain. It makes his hair fluff up weirdly, and his skin itches when he gets damp._

_All the other students are gone by now, and the schoolyard is quiet._

_Through the stillness, Yuuri hears a sniffing noise from just inside the school doors. Tentatively, he peeks inside, and sure enough, there’s a curled up figure concealed in the corner, silvery hair peeking through crossed arms._

_“Viktor?” Yuuri asks, worried. “Are you okay?”_

_Viktor doesn’t move._

_“Viktor?” Yuuri tries again._

_After a long pause, Viktor’s head lifts up, just a little, so that Yuuri can see his eyes. They’re red._

_“_ Mama _,” he says, the evidently-Russian pronunciation a bit unfamiliar to Yuuri, who is used to Japanese or English coming from Viktor’s mouth. Viktor presses his face once again into his arm once again; he seems so small._

_Very slowly, Yuuri sits down next to Viktor. “What did you say…?”_

_Viktor shakes his head a bit, but he seems to be coming back to himself. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s… it’s the rain.”_

_Yuuri nods, like he understands, even though he doesn’t. He wants to help, but what can he do? This is way out of his depth. Unless…_

_Digging into his backpack, he finds his mp3 player and a pair of headphones, and after scrambling to plug them in, he sticks one side into his own ear. Tentatively, so that he doesn’t surprise him, he puts the other earbud into Viktor’s ear._

_Then he turns the player on, and the soft sound of opera floods both of their ears._

_The two of them sit side by side like that for a while. Yuuri isn’t sure how long; he lets the song loop, comfortingly, as long as Viktor likes._

_Finally, the figure beside him begins to stir. Yuuri watches quietly as Viktor sits up. Belatedly, he notices that the rain has stopped._

_“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks, taking the earbud back from Viktor as the other boy hands it to him._

_“Yeah,” Viktor says, and his eyes look less red than before. “I’m sorry. I… I hate rain. Especially being in a car when it rains. But sometimes… just rain, too.”_

_“No need to be sorry.” Yuuri busies himself putting the mp3 player back in his bag, not sure what else to say, since Viktor is quiet again. “That’s one of my favorite songs. Stammi Vicino—but I don’t really know how to say it right. I think it’s Italian.”_

_Viktor gives him a half smile. “I like it.”_

_It’s quiet again for a minute, and Yuuri senses that he should be still, should wait a minute, because there’s more words coming in like the tide if he’ll be patient and catch them._

_He’s right._

_“My mom,” Viktor says, pausing for the right words. “She died in a car crash.”_

_“Oh,” Yuuri says, because while he’d obviously noticed that Viktor had no mother, it hadn’t occurred to him to think much about it. He’d sort of… thought that Viktor had never had one, though as he contemplates it now, that’s a little silly._

_“It was raining,” Viktor adds, staring out the door at the clearing skies. “I was in the car too.” He’s quiet for another moment, then winces, as though the memory hurts to recall. “I wasn’t hurt. I just… hate rain. It makes me remember that day.”_

_At thirteen, Yuuri isn’t exactly full of eloquent comforts. Instead, he reaches out to awkwardly pat Viktor’s arm. “If it helps,” he suggests slowly, “I hate rain too. We can avoid it together.”_

_“Yeah,” Viktor says, and gives him a genuine smile. “What’s that song called again?”_

_“Stammi Vicino,” Yuuri says, a little startled by Viktor’s smile, or maybe startled by the fact that he_ is _startled when Viktor looks at him like that. “Uh… stay close to me. That’s what it means… I think.”_

_“I like it,” Viktor repeats, more sure this time. “It can be our song.” He takes Yuuri’s hand suddenly, and all Yuuri can do is stare down at their intertwined fingers. “Stay close to me. Yes?”_

_Yuuri blinks, then launches himself to his feet quickly, unsure whether Viktor meant to just repeat the title, or if the words were his own question. The potential answer was just a bit too overwhelming. “Um. Yep. Yes,” he stammers, scratching at the back of his neck. “Sure.”_

_Viktor watches him, face almost unreadable—maybe slightly amused? “We should go home,” he says. “Now that it’s not raining.”_

_“Let’s,” Yuuri says in relief._

/ / /

Yuuri is in such a nervous flurry, not wanting to be late on his first day, that he nearly collides with a random employee on his way in the building doors on the ground floor.

Well, when Yuuri says _nearly collides,_ he actually means that he runs just about full-force into the man and would have toppled over completely if the stranger hadn’t caught his jacket sleeve and pulled him back to his feet.

_“Whoa there,”_ the man says in English.

Startled, Yuuri can only stare at him. There are foreigners in Japan, of course, but they’re not so common. Phichit is just about the only friend Yuuri has who isn’t fully Japanese, and even he’s half.

And of course, there was also the hyper-sensitive part of his brain that had gone _is that Viktor?_ for a split second.

It certainly was not Viktor, though the other man was admittedly well-dressed and sharp featured in his own right.

“Um,” Yuuri stammers, trying to remember how to English. “ _I’m sorry.”_

“It’s okay,” the man replies in Japanese, grinning, and Yuuri stares harder because he has absolutely no accent. He has about a thousand questions, but it suddenly reoccurs to him _why_ he was hurrying, and instead of sticking around he bows furiously a few times, apologizes again (this time in Japanese) and dashes off.

Thankfully, he makes it to his office five minutes early.

Despite being at a fashion magazine, the administrative management department is somewhat less than glamorous, if Yuuri was to understate it. Not that he minds—he would take this over the bar any day.

The work isn’t particularly glamorous, either—upon arriving Yuuri is almost immediately tasked with a series of data entry jobs, as well as coffee runs, making copies, and other such menial work. Yuuri is a good sport, though, and spends the day delivering the coffee, turning in projects, and wiping counters with a smile.

It may not be exciting, but it’s real, full-time work.

He stays until five PM, when his boss graciously dismisses them all—not exactly what Yuuri expected, but he won’t complain about having a punctual supervisor.

It’s not Yuuri’s first time seeing his boss. He’s the third interviewer, the one that had asked to hear him out. Yuuri suspects that he might have had something to do with hiring him, and when he’s pulled aside before he leaves, his suspicions are confirmed.

“I’m impressed with your work,” his boss tells him jovially, patting him on the back maybe just a tad too hard. “Seems like you live up to your claims! I was the one who insisted on hiring you, you know.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri tells him sincerely. “I’m honored to have a chance to work here.”

His supervisor chuckles. “Between you and me,” he says, voice a bit quieter as he leans in conspiratorially, “Someone like you is preferable to the pretty youngsters anyway. They’re not serious about their work yet, eh? Always thinking about the date they’ll go on later, the TV show they want to watch, where they’ll go shopping after work. Not someone like Katsuki Yuuri, though, right?”

_Ouch,_ Yuuri thinks. _What a way to subtly call me old and ugly._ He bites the saltiness back. “I appreciate the opportunity,” he reiterates, a little softer this time.

“I mean, someone like you is perfect,” his boss continues, obviously oblivious. Yuuri wishes he would develop the sudden urge to head home. “No other work experience, either, so you’re likely to stay. It’s a better investment! That’s why I told the hiring panel anyway, and you’re living proof.”

Yuuri has no words for that. He simply bows.

“Well.” The exclamation is, unfortunately, punctuated by another clap on the back. “Let’s head home now, shall we? We can have company drinks at the end of the week, eh?”

Managing another smile, Yuuri nods. The exhaustion of a full day’s work is suddenly hitting him, and it’s a relief that his boss finally seems interested in leaving. “I’ll run to the restroom first,” he says apologetically, and seizes the excuse to leave separately.

The conversation certainly puts a damper on Yuuri’s excitement, but calling his parents on the way back home helps quite a bit. He hadn’t told them about the job yet—he’d wanted to wait till it was real to call them.

His parents are appropriately elated. “That’s my Yuuri!” His mother says, and Yuuri can picture the happy lines of her smile.

“It sounds like a good job,” his father agrees. “We’re so proud of you!”

There’s snort in the background that Yuuri knows can only be Mari. “Good going, little brother!” comes her muffled shout. “Wait till mom starts telling every guest at our inn!”

“Mom, don’t do that,” Yuuri groans, knowing full well that she will.

“I’m sure you’ll be wonderful at it.” The round warmness of her laugh makes Yuuri’s heart clench, even over the phone. He hasn’t been to Kyushu in a while.

By the time he gets off the phone, he’s practically home. The weariness is still there after the forty-five minute commute home, and he’s sort of glad that Phichit is still at work because he can kick off his shoes and collapse face down into the sofa for five minutes in complete quiet.

On the table his phone buzzes, and Yuuri extends his arm to feel around for it. _Must be Phichit,_ he thinks.

_Oh._

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Hey Yuuri_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _How are things going? Did you arrive safely?_

Yuuri feels too guilty to ignore him. He sits up properly, shoulders still aching from his bad posture at the computer earlier.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Hi Viktor_

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Yep, I arrived safely_

Suddenly remembering a trip he’d taken to Seoul back in university, Yuuri opens his camera roll and flips through his photos. It takes him a minute, but he finds a photo he’d taken from the taxi outside Incheon airport of one of the statues along the front roads.

Copying it into the text bar, he sends that, too.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _The weather here is nice!_

Despite himself, Yuuri can't help adding a question. _How are you doing?_ He might be being an absolute asshole, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't care.

Viktor reads it immediately.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Wow! The view is beautiful_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Maybe I should come to Seoul sometime (_ ＾▽＾ _)_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Oh, I'm fine. I'm starting my new job officially in a few days. Just life as normal, you know_

A lump builds in Yuuri’s throat. He hates lying.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Yeah, you definitely should! And good luck with your job. I'm sure you're going to be wonderful at it._

Swallowing hard, he sets his phone aside and goes to look for food in the fridge.

/ / /

_As far as Yuuri can see, it’s a fairly normal Saturday. Yuuri had a junior ice show last week, so he’s not working on anything now, just skating circles around the rink for fun with Viktor._

_But apparently it’s not such a normal Saturday, if Yuuri can read anything from Viktor’s drawn face._

_“You want to go eat noodles later?” Yuuri asks, hoping to perk his spirits up._

_Viktor shakes his head. “No, I have to study for Japanese lessons.”_

_“Want me to come over and help?”_

_Another head shake. “Sorry Yuuri… not today.”_

_The rejection hurts a little bit, and Yuuri kind of wants to reach for Viktor—take his hand or… something—but he doesn’t._

_Viktor’s funk doesn’t clear when they get off the ice, either, not when they wipe down their skate blades and Viktor returns his rented pair to the counter, or when they emerge into the warm late-spring sun._

_They’re about halfway home, right in front of the bay where the sun hits the water most brilliantly, when Viktor stops abruptly. It’s late enough in the afternoon that shadows have grown little trailing tails. Viktor is positioned just so that his head blocks the sun, and light fans out around to frame his face, dancing around his hair as it blows in the warm breeze._

_Yuuri is blinded._

_“Yuuri,” Viktor says._

_“Mmm hmm,” Yuuri says, a little breathless, as though he’s totally not distracted by Viktor’s face right in front of him._

_Right now, it’s a very sad face, however beautiful it might be. “I have to tell you something.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Um… well… Dad and I are moving.”_

_Yuuri’s attention is grabbed by that. “Huh? Moving?”_

_“Yes,” Viktor confirms. He rubs at his neck, some combination of sheepishness and misery flowing across his face. “North. My dad got a new job up in Hokkaido for a year. And then… he wants to go to America after that.”_

_“Got?” Yuuri asks gingerly. “As in… he already did it? And can’t, um… Change his mind?”_

_“No… believe me, I tried to argue with him.”_

_Yuuri’s heart sinks. “Hokkaido is like, the opposite side of Japan.”_

_“I know,” Viktor agrees miserably._

_“And America is like, the opposite side of the_ world!”

_“Yeah.” Viktor sounds pretty defeated. “I promise I don’t want to go, Yuuri.”_

_“Then don’t,” Yuuri suggests. “Move in with us at the inn!”_

_“I’m thirteen,” Viktor says, laughing in a way that doesn’t feel like laughter. “You know I can’t. I need to stay with Dad. Besides, Makka needs me.”_

_“But…” Yuuri’s lower lip trembles. “I don’t want you to go. Phichit left me, you can’t leave me too?”_

_And then, before Yuuri can realize what’s happening or protest or even_ breathe, _Viktor has wrapped his arms around him and hooked his chin over his shoulder._

_“You won’t lose me,” Viktor says, in a way that sounds very much like a vow. “I promise.”_

_What else can Yuuri do but accept it? “You’ll keep in touch?” he whispers anxiously._

_“Of course,” Viktor says. “You know I will.”_

/ / /

Yuuri goes to work the next day, and the next. It’s an amazing feeling.

Well, actually, his job is a huge drag and polishing coffee pots isn’t exactly his favorite activity and doing data entry half the day every day gives him serious shoulder aches and his boss has a tendency to overshare…

…but it’s a million times better than his part time job, and Yuuri is simply thankful. Not even a thousand coffee pots and and ten years of neck ache can override the feeling that he’s _finally_ got a real job. The only way to go from here is up, it seems.

On his fourth day in the office, it’s nearly five o’clock when the disillusioned middle-aged lady who sits two desks over hands him a box of who-knows-what and tells him to take it to Editing.

“W-where’s that?” Yuuri asks, a bit flustered at being kept late on a last minute task, but she just waves him off.

“Follow signs!” she calls over her shoulder as she walks out the door.

Talk about non-perks of being the newest hire.

Fortunately, it really isn’t too difficult to find the editing department. It’s better marked than administration, to be honest, and before ten minutes have passed, Yuuri is turning the corner toward the entrance.

His steps slow here, giving him time to look around him in wonder. Everything is sleek and artfully placed, even in the lobby, but even that can’t prepare Yuuri for what is waiting as he presses the button to open the sliding, automatic door.

This place is no cubicle sea—in fact, Yuuri has never seen such a spacious and well decorated office before. Each desk has so much room, and there’s far more than just desks here. Plush rugs line the floors between desks, racks of clothing, and well-matched shelving full of boxes and makeup props and who knows what else, not to mention clear white-board like things all over the place. It’s modern, harmonic in its color scheme and feeling. It’s not quiet, though—work is apparently in full swing here in the editing department, as Yuuri realizes a moment too late before someone nearly crashes right into him.

“Oh,” the person says, and Yuuri takes in who it is.

“Wait—“

“It’s you!” the man bursts out, laughing. “The one from the building entrance, the one with the white socks and black shoes! Like Michael Jackson!”

Yuuri blinks. It’s that foreign man he’d collided with a few days prior, the one who spoke perfect Japanese. “I—uh… Yes. That’s me. I think?” He’s not entirely sure what is going on.

“Oh… you’re the new guy!” the man says, as though he’d just realized something. “Nice to meet you!” He sticks out a hand to shake. It’s a weird combination of customs, and Yuuri tries to adjust his brain as he returns the handshake. “My name is Cristophe Giacometti, world-class reporter, but you can call me Chris.” He winks, which is equally disconcerting to Yuuri. “I can get away with it since I’m from overseas, you know.”

Slightly flabbergasted, Yuuri is lost for words until he remembers that he’s holding a box. “Um… you work here, right?”

Chris nods, so Yuuri quickly unloads his box onto him. He’s got the sudden desire to get out of here and go home. “Here, this is from administration. I need to go now—“

“So you’re _finally_ here,” a tall, annoyed-looking woman interrupts, stalking up to the two of them with long, graceful strides. Yuuri takes a moment to realize that her words are directed at _him._

“M-me?” he asks, confused.

“Yes, you,” she says, her voice completely no-nonsense. “We were expecting you after lunch! Where have you been? There’s already piles of work waiting for you to edit.”

“I didn’t know you were expecting me—” Yuuri tries to start, but this woman’s presence is so overpowering that he finds himself swept along to her desk. Before he knows it, she is unceremoniously dumping a thick stack of paper into his arms.

“Start with these,” she says, and points at an empty looking desk. “That one is yours.”

“But—”

She—Yuuri finally takes a glance at her nametag to see that her name is Okukawa Minako and she’s the head reporter—waves a hand dismissively, her phone already held to her ear.

Yuuri is so out of his depth right now. He stands there for a moment, then looks down at the stack of papers. _Fuck it,_ he thinks.

He never has been good at saying no.

The next hour or two passes in a flurry. Yuuri edits the stack of papers as fast as he can, scrawling notes and pointing out typos on each page. It’s not the worst work, really—Yuuri had actually enjoyed Japanese writing classes back in his day—though it’s not exactly how he had expected to spend his evening.

Just about as soon as he finishes those, someone else unrecognizable to him hands him a stack of notes to type up. The tasks pile up next to him as the office hums with a constant rhythm of movement. It couldn’t be more different than the administration management office, really.

Finally, at nearly nine o’clock, Yuuri finishes all his tasks. He stands, stretches, and cracks his back.

“Nice job, Yuuri,” someone croons behind him, and Yuuri nearly jumps a foot in the air to see Chris directly behind him.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, blinking. “How do—”

“Your name is on your nametag,” Chris shrugs, smiling. “I guess it’s time for you to head home, yes?”

Yuuri realizes suddenly that he’s exhausted. “Uh. Yes. I should get going.” He bows politely, stillnot sure what to make of this extremely friendly reporter. “Nice to meet you, Reporter Giacometti.”

“Chris! You can call me Chris!”

“Yes, okay, thanks,” Yuuri agrees, inching away. There’s no way he’s letting himself get sent here again.

“See you tomorrow!” The reporter calls after him, and Yuuri chooses to ignore all the ways in which that doesn’t make sense.

Instead, he thinks about the ramen he’s going to eat after he gets home and before he falls into bed.

/ / /

If Yuuri had thought—and he had—that all the weirdness would be over the next day, he’s completely and utterly wrong.

When he arrives in the office the next day, he’s greeted by his supervisor, who is solemnly holding a box which contains everything that had previously been setting on his desk.

“I have news that is good for you and bad for me,” he says, which is incredibly cryptic and does nothing to help Yuuri’s confusion. “You’re being transferred to editing.”

Yuuri blinks. Then blinks again. “Come again?”

“You’re being promoted!” one of his coworkers adds helpfully.

“But… wait… what? I got hired here? Why would they…”

“Apparently there was a mix-up yesterday,” his supervisor explains. “There was a new temporary intern coming in, but that intern had a minor car accident and was delayed. When you came in, they assumed that intern was you. But apparently your work was so good that they apparently fired the other intern and are bringing you in!”

“But I’m not experienced in editing,” Yuuri says. Or magazines. Or fashion. Or anything remotely close to what that department does.

“Listen, I’m not the person to talk to. What the editing department wants, they get. If you want to change anything you’ll have to talk to Reporter Okukawa once you get there.”

“But—”

“Off you go,” Yuuri’s boss says, all but shoving the box into his arms. “Enjoy your promotion.”

Which is why Yuuri ends up, once again, standing in front of the giant glass sliding door of the editing department with yet another box in his arms.

“Yuuri!” a voice that he already recognizes as Chris sounds behind him. “You’re here!”

“It does seem that way,” Yuuri says, mostly dazed.

“So… are you gonna go inside?”

Yuuri starts at that. “Um. Yes. Right.” He pushes the button and the door glides open, once again revealing the gigantic editing department office.

“Minako!” Chris calls, and Yuuri has to wince a bit at the rudeness of calling the head reporter by her first name. “Yuuri is here!”

Yuuri can hear her heels clicking before he can turn to see her approach. “Hello,” he says, as respectfully as he can.

“Mr. Katsuki,” the head reporter says, cocking an eyebrow. “We got the mix up straightened out yesterday after you left. So sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s fine!” Yuuri is quick to assure her. “I don’t mind! But now that everything is sorted, you can send me back to admin—”

“And loose the best temporary editing help we’ve ever had?” Reporter Okukawa looks at him sternly. “Not on my watch. I don’t care where you come from, you caught every single mistake in ten articles in _record_ time.”

“But I don’t know the first thing about fashion, how can I…”

“I know good editing when I see it. You’d be wasted in administration; I’ve decided you’re staying here.” Nodding, she gestures to the desks behind her. “You know where your desk is. Get yourself set up and I’ll be over shortly to show you the ropes.”

Discussion ended, she walks away, leaving Yuuri, yet again, completely at a loss for what to say or do. Well, except to follow the directions he’s just been given.

He makes his way over to his desk and unpacks his meager items—a plain white coffee mug, a pencil cup, a few pens, a stack of post-it notes. He hadn’t been at the other office long enough to gather anything particularly personal, he realizes with a shallow laugh.

Yuuri’s life just seems to get stranger with every passing moment.

His thoughts are interrupted suddenly as Reporter Okukawa claps her hands. “Attention everyone!” she calls. “As you all know, today is the first day for our newest employee.”

_Me?_ Yuuri thinks. _Crap, no, don’t all look at me—_

“Allow me to introduce our new editor in chief,” she continues as the door begins to slide open. “Viktor Nikiforov!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have questions or want to chat, find me on tumblr at @dahlkom! You can always drop me an ask if needed.


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!
> 
> As promised, I finished this in just a few days! We're reaching some turning points in the plot, so hang in there, okay?
> 
> As always, enjoy!

On a normal day, Yuuri isn’t so terribly prone to act on instinct. No, he’s more the overthinking-to-the-point-of-ridiculousness type, generally.

But today is not a normal day, and so Yuuri dives underneath his desk the second he realizes what’s going on.

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit,_ he thinks as he sits there, for lack of a more coherent reaction. _This is the worst of all possible outcomes._

To his continued misfortune, his somewhat less-than-magnificent retreat wasn’t completely unnoticed. “Yuuri?” Chris asks, his head appearing in view as he peeks underneath the desk. “What are you doing?”

“Um,” Yuuri says, completely blanking. “I. I dropped a pen.”

“Ah.” Chris raises his eyebrows but says nothing. “And when do you plan to rejoin us in the outside world again?”

Yuuri blinks. “Is he still here?”

“Who?”

“V—the new _editor,”_ Yuuri half-hisses, half-whispers.

“Oh, him? He’s already gone off to tour some other part of the building.” He extends a hand, and Yuuri doesn’t refuse it, dusting himself off and pretending to regain his dignity. “Why? Is something wrong with him?”

“No. Of course not. Just curious.”

“Ah, you missed getting a glimpse of him? Too bad. He’s nice to look at.” Chris winks, which should be ridiculous in this context but somehow seems natural for him. “It’s okay, you’ll see him sooner or later; he is our new boss, after all.”

Yuuri knows this well. All _too_ well. In fact, that happens to be his burningly urgent problem for which he needs to find a solution _immediately._

“Excuse me,” Yuuri says, trying to hold off the panic. “I need to, ah… use the restroom.”

“Then by all means, please go,” Chris tells him with a grin, sitting down at his own desk right behind Yuuri’s.

Fortunately, Yuuri manages to get himself locked into a bathroom stall before going into full-blown panic mode. Lowering his face into his hands, Yuuri’s mouth opens in a silent, repressed scream. He has really, really dug himself into a hole here.

How the hell is he supposed to avoid Viktor when Viktor is his _boss?_

Trembling, he reaches for his phone and dials Phichit. Yuuri knows he’s working a morning shift today, and he usually doesn’t call him when he’s at work, but, well. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Yuuri?” Phichit’s voice filters through the phone. “What’s up? Why are you calling from work?”

_“Phichit,”_ Yuuri wheezes into the phone, trying to stay quiet. “I’m utterly fucked.”

That must have sent off warning bells in Phichit’s head, because Yuuri can hear quick shuffling on the other end of the line. “Hold on… I just stepped out for a second of privacy.” There’s the quiet click of a door closing, then silence. “Okay, explain.”

“It’s… oh my god,” Yuuri whispers, nearly having another breakdown just thinking about it. “You won’t believe it. I hardly can. I got transferred to another department out of the blue this morning and my boss is _Viktor Nikiforov.”_

A pause. “Shit,” Phichit says. It’s an acknowledgment. “That is serious.”

“Yes, I _know,_ but what do I do?” Yuuri is teetering on the edge of unhinged.

“Does he recognize you?”

“I don’t know…”

“Did he see you?”

“Not yet.” Yuuri’s nails dig into his knee, knuckles white. “I’m kind of hiding in the bathroom.”

“Right. Good. Okay, let’s think…” Yuuri can practically see the deeply pensive frown that Phichit always has when he’s scheming. “To be fair, he might not even recognize you. He thinks you’re in Japan, you know.”

“Katsuki Yuuri isn’t the most common name in the world,” Yuuri points out. “He’s bound to suspect!”

“Right.” Another moment of quiet. “Unless…”

Yuuri hears the hint of a plan. “Unless?”

“Well, if he thinks that you look like someone else, he’s much less likely to put two and two together, don’t you think?”

Yuuri isn’t following. “Huh?”

“Didn’t you say you sent him a photo you took in Korea?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“And that trip… didn’t you go with your family?”

“Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Phichit laughs, suddenly relaxed. “Yuuri! Your cousin Jun was there! Don’t you have a picture of him in Seoul?”

Phichit’s meaning hits him all at once. Jun is Yuuri’s cousin on his father’s side, the oldest of three but only two years older than Yuuri. When they were younger, everyone always said they looked like twins.

Over the years, though, Jun’s appearance hasn’t changed as much as Yuuri’s has. In fact, even several years ago, Jun had looked very much like an adult version of how Yuuri had looked as a kid. In other words: nothing like how Yuuri looks now.

It’s a pretty damn good plan.

“I think there’s some on his Facebook page,” Yuuri murmurs, opening the app on his phone. “Let me look.” He finds Jun’s profile and starts scrolling, shoulders still tense. Jun posts much more than Yuuri does (well… most like he actually _posts)_ so it takes a few minutes, but sure enough, Yuuri’s search reveals a couple photos from Seoul.

_Sorry, Jun,_ Yuuri thinks, vowing to buy him an expensive dinner the next time they met up. Jun would understand, though. Yuuri doesn’t have a lot of options here.

“I’ll send him this,” Yuuri says into the phone, opening up his Facebook message conversation with Viktor and picking a photo of Jun posing in front of the Lotte Tower Mall. There’s an innocent _How are you?_ message waiting there, which he’s been dreading answering since yesterday. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Of course. Once he sees that, you’re probably safe from too much suspicion. But maybe see if you can transfer back to your old department?”

“Believe me, I’ll do my best.” Yuuri sighs.

“Just get through today and we’ll figure it out tonight, okay?”

“Okay.” Yuuri is starting to calm down. “Bye, Phichit.”

“Hang in there!”

The call screen exits as Phichit hangs up, and Yuuri returns to messenger. Trying not to think too hard about the spiral of lies he’s gotten himself caught up in, he hits _send._

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _[photo]_

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Sorry it took me so long to reply! I’ve been busy during my first week, haha. Here’s a photo of Lotte Tower! Cool, right?_

The alarming speed with which Viktor’s icon appears and drops down to below the message doesn’t help Yuuri’s nerves. Before he can find out whether Viktor will reply, he exits the app and stands up.

He can’t stay in the bathroom all day, after all, or he’s going to have more than Viktor to worry about.

The restroom is mercifully empty when he emerges from the stall, and Yuuri pauses for a moment to take in his appearance in the mirror. He looks, for lack of a better word, awful. His face is pale and drawn, and unflatteringly shiny-looking from all the nervous sweat. Not to mention his hair is sticking up on one side, probably from running his hands through it. Yuuri pats at it self-consciously, then bends down to wash his hands and face.

He doesn’t register who it is that walks into the restroom behind him till that person finishes at the urinal and comes up next to him to wash his hands.

Wiping his wet face on his sleeve, Yuuri takes a final glance in the mirror, then comes to a complete standstill when he sees the reflection of the figure next to him.

That person is Viktor.

_Why,_ he asks himself, wishing that he could melt into a puddle.

The staring attracts Viktor’s attention (because of course it does) and they lock eyes for a terrible, uncomfortable moment.

“Are you okay?”

Viktor’s voice is deeper in person than on the phone, far deeper than it had been as a teenager. Not that Yuuri is thinking about that with even 1% of his brain at this moment, of course.

“You’re talking to me,” he says, which is supposed to be a question but comes out more as a statement of incredulity. The nervous sweats have returned with a vigor, and Yuuri can feel the armpits of his shirt sticking to him uncomfortably.

“Is there anyone else in here?” Viktor cocks an eyebrow. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” He flicks his wrists to dry his hands, pulling his jacket sleeves back up from where he’s rolled them up.

“Nope. No. I’m—I’m totally fine,” Yuuri says, coming back to himself enough to realize that he needs to get out of here. “Thank you for asking! Have a nice day!” He nearly trips over himself in his rush to leave the restroom.

_Shit. Shit shit shit,_ Yuuri thinks, not for the first time today.

/ / /

Yuuri’s plan for the day from that point on pretty much consists of avoiding Viktor at all costs, while simultaneously not irritating his other coworkers enough on his very first day to get himself fired.

Fortunately for Yuuri, it’s not as difficult as he expects. Apparently Viktor isn’t doing much real work yet, and he only appears back in the editing department once that day, at which time he makes a beeline to his office (Yuuri is conveniently next to a clothing rack full of skirts that he can hide behind). Mercifully, he doesn’t emerge again.

Amid the extreme distraction that is stressing about Viktor, Yuuri manages to actually learn some things about his job. Most of what he does is exactly what got him here in the first place: checking drafts of articles for mistakes and inconsistencies. Yuuri doesn’t mind this so much; he actually likes to read and write, and, well, the head reporter hadn’t been lying when she had said that he had a sharp eye for it.

That’s not the end of Yuuri’s responsibilities, though. He’s also, as he discovers, the de facto errand boy, meaning that he’s (yet again) in charge of coffee runs, counter wiping, and taking whatever his coworkers want to wherever they want it taken.

“And meeting notes,” Reporter Okukawa tacks on to her brief explanation, her arms crossing. “Whenever our new chief editor starts holding them, that is.”

“Right.” Yuuri is not looking forward to that. “And… um… there’s no chance I could still convince you to send me back to administrative management?”

The older woman raises one perfectly-filled eyebrow at him, which is answer enough to his question.

The day drags on until it feels like the equivalent of about five regular days, partially because the editing department doesn’t shut down at five o’clock the way his old office had. It’s nearing seven thirty by the time Reporter Okukawa seems satisfied and tells him to head home, much to Yuuri’s relief. A glance at Viktor’s office shows the lights still glowing warm around the edges of the blinds, obscuring whatever or whoever was inside from view behind the glass walls.

Dazedly, Yuuri packs his things into his laptop bag.

“Hi Yuuri,” Chris drawls from behind him, and Yuuri jumps.

“How do you do that?” he asks, turning to face him.

“Do what?

“Never mind.” Yuuri shakes his head, hoping to regain some semblance of sense.

“Want to go eat sweet potatoes with me?” Chris’s eyes sparkle with good humor. “It’s getting colder and the vendors are starting to appear at the night market two blocks over.”

Yuuri has to politely decline. “Maybe another day.”

“You don’t want to hang out with me?” Chris’s face melts into something that looks kind of like a pout.

“No!” Yuuri nearly shouts, waving his hands. He can’t afford to get on _everyone’s_ bad side on the first day. “Don’t get the wrong idea! I’m just tired today and I need to get home. We can go another day, I promise!”

Snickering, Chris covers his grin with one hand. “I’m just teasing, Yuuri~ don’t worry.” A wave of seriousness washes over him. “I’ll hold you to your promise later, just so you know.”

“O…kay…?” Yuuri stammers. He has no idea what to make of his coworker. “Well. Um. See you tomorrow.” Swinging his bag over shoulder, Yuuri makes what is definitely not his first awkward exit of the day.

It isn’t until he steps onto the bus that Yuuri finally feels like he can breathe. Exhausted, his head falls sideways to lean against the chilly window glass.

_What a day,_ he thinks to himself, reaching up to brush aside his bangs where they’ve fallen into his eyes.

Outside the window, the evening lights of Tokyo rush gently by, undisturbed.

/ / /

Yuuri freaks out, _again,_ when he gets home and has to re-explain the whole story to his housemate.

Nodding sympathetically, Phichit pats his back. “It will be okay,” he assures him.

“I’m the dumbest person in the world,” Yuuri moans, burying his face in one of the couch pillows.

“Well, yes, but I still love you.”

_“Phichit,”_ Yuuri groans.

“Fine, fine. You’re sure you don’t want to come clean now?”

That makes Yuuri sit up. “Are you kidding?” he asks miserably. “It’s way too late for that. Heck, Viktor would probably fire me and never speak to me again.”

“Mhmm,” Phichit says, followed by a sigh. “You are in pretty deep at this point.”

“No shit.” Yuuri returns to planting his face in the sofa. “I’m gonna die.” A pause. “Well actually, Viktor’s going to figure it out and I’m going to be fired, _then_ die.”

“Your name isn’t _that_ unique,” Phichit says, nudging at his lifeless form. “Besides, he thinks you look totally different than you do—no offense or anything. The likelihood of him guessing who you are is actually pretty low.”

Yuuri _is_ mildly offended, but he’s too busy contemplating his inevitable humiliation and death to react to it.

“Just give it a week,” Phichit says comfortingly. “I’m sure it will all settle down by then.”

“Or I’ll be dead.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Yuuri.”

/ / /

_Today might be the worst day of Yuuri’s life._

_Actually, Yuuri thinks as he stands on the train platform, it is definitely the worst day of his life._

_Today is the day that Viktor leaves Hasetsu._

_Yuuri had done everything in his meager thirteen-year-old power to stop this from happening, but even going to Viktor’s father and begging him with puppy eyes not to go (or at least to leave Viktor behind) had only earned him a sad chuckle and a stilted English lecture on “being an adult.”_

_(Which made zero sense to Yuuri, English or not.)_

_He’d also suggested kidnapping Viktor and keeping him in Yuuri’s room till his father had to leave without him, but that only made Viktor laugh. There’s something blooming in Viktor’s personality nowadays, something like resignation and dutifulness, that takes after his father. Were Yuuri older, he might recognize it as maturity._

_“Don’t cry, Yuuri,” Viktor says now, bringing him back to the present. “I’ll write you letters, and you can call me, too. Maybe I can even visit!”_

_“I’m not crying,” Yuuri insists. “It’s allergies.”_

_Viktor smiles wanly. “I’d better let you get home soon, then. Being outside won’t help your allergies.”_

_“No!” Yuuri says, grabbing Viktor’s hand before he can think to stop himself. He holds it for a split second, then drops it the second he realizes what he’s doing. “I—I mean, don’t go yet. There’s a couple more minutes.”_

_“Just a few.” Yuuri is suddenly aware that his parents have already disappeared, goodbyes finished, and Viktor’s father is busy loading luggage onto the train._

_Something bubbles up inside Yuuri then, as though it was waiting just for that second to explode out from his chest. “Viktor, there’s something I need to—”_

_“Departing in one minute!” The train announcement echoes from the loudspeakers down the platform, and whatever Yuuri was about to say dies in his throat._

_Viktor pauses for one last agonizing moment, and his fingers lift up to trace the softest of touches against Yuuri’s cheek._

_“Dasvidanya, Yuuri,” Viktor says, his expression gentle, and then he’s gone._

/ / /

The main feeling Yuuri experiences as he heads into work the next morning is resignation.

Phichit is probably right, he knows; Viktor is more than likely not going to recognize him, and in a week’s time things will feel much more calm.

It doesn’t preclude his anxiety, but at least thanks to Chris Yuuri gets the first interaction over with quickly.

“Viktor!” Chris calls out the moment their boss walks into the office. Yuuri and Chris are already seated at their desks, daily tasks begun, and as Yuuri ducks his head down instinctively, he marvels at Chris’s audacity to assume himself on a first name basis with their boss already.

But then again, Chris is just like that, it seems.

If Yuuri had been willing to look in Viktor’s direction, he would have seen him pause ever-so-briefly to acknowledge the greeting.

“Yuuri, I don’t think you’ve met our new editor properly,” Chris continues, while Yuuri tries and fails to disappear into midair at will. “Viktor, this is Katsuki Yuuri, he’s our new temp.”

Yuuri is forced to turn around then and stand then, though he doesn’t meet Viktor’s eyes. Bowing low, he forces out a standard, polite greeting. “Nice to meet you. I hope we can work well together.”

If hearing his name takes Viktor aback, the only sign he gives is a moment of pause. He doesn’t even voice a reply, just nods and continues to walk away.

_Well, that’s rude, even by international standards,_ Yuuri thinks, slight indignation overriding his nerves even if just momentarily. This Viktor is apparently not much like the Viktor he had known as a child.

“See what I mean?” Chris interrupts his thoughts with a signature wink. “Eye candy.”

Yuuri doesn’t humor that with a reply, instead turning back to his computer. His thoughts on Viktor status as eye-candy or not-eye-candy are 100% confidential, and also very much the last thing on his current list of things filed in his brain under “Viktor Nikiforov.”

As the day goes on, Yuuri meets the rest of the editing team, which is surprisingly small. Besides Chris and the head reporter, there’s also Minami Kenjirou and Toyomura Yuuko, the styling assistants, who do more with the piles of clothing and products sitting around the office than typing on computers, as well as two other reporters, Nishigori Takeshi and Morooka Hisashi.

And… that’s everyone, Yuuri realizes. Just seven of them.

Well, besides Viktor.

Yuuri might be slow to pick up on fashion and design, but he’s fast learning unspoken office dynamics, especially with Chris as an eager guide. He quickly learns that Toyomura and Nishigori pretend to want nothing to do with each other, but actually want to “jump each other’s guts,” as Chris puts it.

“Hisashi and I have a bet on whether it will happen before or after the new year,” the other reporter tells him confidentially. “I think it will take them at least that long to figure it out.”

Yuuri also learns other interesting things, such as that Minami is the youngest in the offic, barely out of university, and that Morooka was formerly a sports writer before taking the job at _Icon!._ It seems that Chris knows just about everything about everybody, which Yuuri doesn’t know if he finds impressive or concerning.

“And you?” Yuuri has to ask finally. “What’s your secret?” He is, admittedly, curious as to what Chris’s background is, and why he speaks native Japanese.

“Ah,” Chris grins. “Now that, I can’t tell you. First rule of great gossip, Yuuri: it never comes straight from the source.”

Weird.

The day drags on, and as Yuuri works through another stack of edits, he finds that there are hints of normalcy setting in. He is finding a routine, it seems. Around mid-afternoon, he stands, stretches, and heads to the kitchen to get a drink of water.

When he enters the room he discovers that he’s not alone; Minami and Toyomura are already there chatting over coffee. He bows, polite but unobtrusive, and is surprised when they enthusiastically greet him back.

“Hi Katsuki!” Minami chirps with much more energy than Yuuri feels. Toyomura smiles, too, and echoes him with an equally friendly “Hello.”

“Hello,” he replies, searching around for a cup.

The two return to their conversation, and after a moment of unconscious eavesdropping he realizes that they’re talking about Viktor.

“I just can’t believe we’ve hit the career jackpot,” Minami sighs, leaning his chin on one hand. “I mean. Is our boss even _real?”_

“I even checked _People_ to see if he’s on the _Sexiest Men Alive_ list,” Toyomura admits, giggling. “He’s not, but he should be.”

“Is he single? He doesn’t seem like he has a girlfriend or anyone, does he?”

“Are you kidding? People as hot as Viktor Nikiforov are never bachelors…”

Yuuri gulps down his water and excuses himself, not wanting to hear it. He absolutely does not want to think about whether or not Viktor is an eligible bachelor or not. Not even if the prospect makes his face feel warmer than it should.

Not that it’s actually information that _he_ knows, if he’s honest. Viktor could be engaged to someone anywhere in world and Yuuri would have no idea.

Yuuri doesn’t really know anything about him.

Not anymore.

And, to be honest, the two stylists aren’t exactly wrong. Even from the extremely few times he’s seen Viktor as an adult, Yuuri’s got eyes.

Viktor is attractive. More than attractive. He’s…

_Nope, nope, nope,_ Yuuri tells himself. _Absolutely not._

He’s not going to think about that. Not even about his newly sharp jawline or the fullness of his shoulders or—

Yuuri bangs his head with one hand, frustrated with himself. Since when was he like this?

After all, Yuuri had loved Viktor in the deepest of ways long before he’d turned into this long-legged, clean-cut model type. Even if looking at him makes his stomach flip, it’s not just the looks. It’s not even just the anxiety over Viktor finding him out.

There’s something else, too. Something that has, to Yuuri’s surprise, refused to die even after fourteen years. Which… well.

So it’s not just the looks. No; the looks just make it that much harder to stand in front of Viktor and know that he’s the definition of disappointment on two legs.

The arrival of Nishigori with a bundle of paperwork is actually a godsend, and Yuuri accepts it with undue eagerness. He needs to stop thinking about Viktor. Whatever was in the past, it can’t happen now.

Yuuri has made sure of that, by failing to amount to anything at all.

/ / /

_After he moved to Hokkaido, Viktor had made good on all of his promises. He wrote letters, full of English and shakily written Japanese and often missing kanji characters where they belonged instead of hiragana. The letters tell everything from how much Viktor hates his new school to how Makkachin is adjusting to their new home to the ice rink that Viktor spends all his free time at, now that Yuuri had taught him to love skating._

_Yuuri writes back in neat Japanese and misspelled English, and they both learn. As the year goes by, Viktor’s Japanese improves with each letter, and Yuuri’s English tends towards slightly-more-than-occasionally correct._

_They call, too, nearly every weekend, and even though it sucks because it’s not the same as having Viktor there, it’s better than nothing._

_Best of all, almost a year later, Viktor calls with exciting news._

_“I’m coming to visit Hasetsu in the summer!” he exclaims, and Yuuri’s face lights up brighter than it has in eleven months._

_“Really?” he breathes, afraid to believe it. “You’re going to come see me?”_

_“Yes! I can stay at the inn, right?”_

_“Of course!” Yuuri exclaims. “You can even stay in my room, if you want. Will you bring Makka?”_

_“Yes, yes, I will,” Viktor promises. “He’s still small enough to be allowed on the bullet trains.”_

_It feels like the best news Yuuri has ever heard._

_Well, besides the next part: less happily, Viktor adds that his father has decided to move them to the U.S. at the end of the summer._

_Privately, Yuuri wants to know why Japan isn’t good enough for Viktor’s father, but he’s learned enough manners by this point in his life that he doesn’t say it out loud._

_The week of Viktor’s visit is like a whirlwind of happiness. From the moment that Yuuri watches Viktor step down onto from the train platform with Makka in his arms, it’s as though nothing had ever changed._

_They spend the week doing everything they can: running with Makka to the park, eating grilled corn on the street, secretly watching movies together on Yuuri’s laptop at 2 AM when they’re supposed to be asleep, eating ice cream bars by the sea with their bare legs dangling over the tide wall._

_On Viktor’s last night, they leave Makka in Mari’s care and walk down to the sea one final time. Viktor’s hair, still cut short, flutters in the wind, and Yuuri can’t tear his eyes away._

_“I missed the sea in Hasetsu,” Viktor muses, looking out over the water as though he’s afraid he’ll blink and it will be gone._

_Yuuri looks at Viktor with the same kind of eyes._

_“You know,” he continues quietly, “when we first met, I thought you must only like me because I was a novelty. Like… you only wanted to practice English, or something.”_

_Yuuri snorts out a laugh. “I_ never _want to practice English.”_

_“I know that now,” Viktor agrees, and his mirthful eyes come to rest on Yuuri, his gaze gentle. “I’m glad I was wrong. You ended up becoming the best friend I’ve ever had.”_

_“Oh,” Yuuri says, throat suddenly dry._

_“I wish…” Viktor begins suddenly, and then cuts himself off, as if he’s thinking better of it._

_“You wish what?”_

_“That we had takoyaki!” Viktor grins at him. “Should we go find some?”_

_“Sure,” Yuuri agrees, though he can’t quite shake the feeling that Viktor’s original sentence was different, and wonders if it’s anything like the words he’d lost his courage to say a year earlier._

_The next day, Yuuri has to let Viktor go all over again. He’s stronger this year, and his eyes don’t turn wet even when the departure warning blares through the loudspeakers._

_But this goodbye, too, is different. Viktor waves, turns to board the train, then suddenly whirls back around._

_He rushes up to Yuuri, a strange, impulsive look in his eyes, and without hesitation he leans in to plant a kiss on Yuuri’s forehead._

_“Dasvidanya,” he says once again, though Yuuri doesn’t really hear it this time, and leaves to board the train._

_As Yuuri watches the train pull out of the station, one hand comes up to trace the point on his forehead where his skin is tingling, right beneath the phantom imprint of Viktor’s mouth._

/ / /

Whatever small, redemptive stream of luck there was that had kept Yuuri out from under Viktor’s feet so far runs out about four days later when he walks backwards _directly_ into him with a precariously loaded box of sorted sample products in his arms.

It had taken him twice as long as it should have to sort them, because the product names were in English and Yuuri’s English isn’t so good; even when he plugs words into the dictionary on his phone in desperate hope of translations, he doesn’t know what the difference between “sparkling face essence” and “glow serum” is for the life of him.

However, even as Yuuri watches half of all his hard work scatter all over the floor, it’s not the biggest concern on his mind as Viktor’s annoyed expression stares him directly in the face.

Bending to pick up one of the bags, Viktor hands it to him, obviously displeased. “When you’re being paid to work with expensive items, it would serve you well to have control over all of your limbs,” he chastises him, brows furrowed. “Mr…” He pauses.

Yuuri’s brain is too backloaded to realize that Viktor is asking for his name, and it certainly doesn’t clear itself when Viktor reaches toward him, gingerly pulling his employee ID from where it’s wedged between Yuuri’s shirt and the box clutched to his chest. Yuuri might be imagining it, but he thinks that as he reads it, Viktor’ eyes flick back to his face, unreadable, for just a split second.

“Do better, Mr. _Katsuki,”_ Viktor says quietly, then walks off, straightening his crisp navy suit with a flick of both his wrists.

Chris appears out of nowhere (how does he _do_ that?) and nudges Yuuri in his side, right where his ribs are sensitive. Yuuri jumps.

“Between you and me,” Chris notes, “Our new boss is as much of a hard-ass as he is a hot piece of ass.” He bends down, picking up a few more of the fallen items. “Hurry and clean this up. I need a hand with setting up for tomorrow’s shoot.”

/ / /

“Maybe I should quit,” Yuuri tells Phichit that night.

“No, Yuuri,” Phichit chirps from the couch as Yuuri rummages around in the fridge. “As you know, I forbid you from giving up your hard-earned opportunity, even for pretty Russian boys.”

Yuuri ignores most of that. “I just… I never imagined that Viktor could be an asshole? He was always so gentle when I knew him.”

Phichit shrugs, eyes glued to the TV. “People change.”

“Not Viktor,” Yuuri says, finally finding a box of leftovers that looks safe to consume. “Well. I mean. Apparently, yes, Viktor. But I never would have guessed it.”

“Listen, Yuuri,” Phichit tells him, tearing himself away from _Gossip Girl_ for a moment. “You think about work far too much. It’s going to eat you up eventually if you let it.”

“But I can’t _help_ that my work life and my personal life are an absolute mess,” Yuuri pouts, plopping down next to him. “How can I not think about it?”

“You think that’s new, _”_ Phichit snorts. “Well, I guess work is mostly fine, when it doesn’t involve my family. But I wrote the _book_ on having a shitfest of a personal life, and I can tell you that the solution is simple.” He points at the screen. “ _Gossip Girl_. Especially when paired with a good glass of wine.”

Phichit has a point. Yuuri’s phone goes off, and he sets his plate of food down to check it, even though he has a sinking feeling about who it is.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _How was your day?_

Yep. He was right.

Phichit glances over. “Let me guess… the devil himself?”

“Unfortunately.” Yuuri fills his mouth with food and sets his phone back down.

A look crosses Phichit’s face; one that Yuuri knows well. “You need help?”

Yuuri raises his eyebrows. Trusting Phichit’s ‘I Just Had A Brilliant Idea’ face is only a good idea about fifty percent of the time. “What do you suggest?” To be fair, it _has_ had a higher success rate lately.

“Give Viktor my number,” Phichit says. “Let him text me instead of you. I’ll keep him entertained for a bit and help him lose interest.”

“And you’ll manage that _how?_ ”

“My irresistible charm and penchant for drama?”

“Touché,” Yuuri agrees, getting out his phone. He’s eager to accept, really; getting messages from Viktor all the time wasn’t helping his anxiety much. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Of course.” Phichit grins. “Seems entertaining, if nothing else.”

“Okay, then. Just don’t send him anything weird. I know we aren’t really… on actual friendship terms, but it would still be nice if he didn’t think I was completely crazy.”

“Cross my heart,” Phichit promises solemnly. “No weirdness. Zero percent. Only masterful Katsuki Yuuri roleplaying.”

Yuuri knows that this is a dangerous game he’s playing here, but then again, it has been from the start. “Fine. I’ll send you the other pictures of Jun, too, just in case you need them.”

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _I’m doing well!_

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _By the way, Viktor_

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Do you want to exchange phone numbers? It might be more convenient than messenger_

Five minutes later, he gets a reply.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_** _Sure!_ (*^▽^*)

_Great,_ Yuuri thinks. _It worked._

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Cool! My number is 080-1234-5678_

Three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, and Yuuri chews on his bottom lip.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Okay!_

The dots remain for another agonizing minute.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Isn’t that a Japanese number…?_

Before Yuuri can begin full-fledged panic mode, Phichit, who has been looking over his shoulder, grabs his phone and starts typing for him.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Oh, I haven’t changed my number yet_

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _I have to finish getting legally registered before I can get a Korean number_

“You’ve obviously never moved countries before," Phichit laughs. Yuuri reddens a bit.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_** _Ah, I see! I was worried about you getting international charges. I guess you have it figured out!_ （‐＾▽＾‐）

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_** _I’ll text you later. I’m still at work_ (´；Д；｀)

“He’s still working?” Yuuri asks, trying to peer over Phichit’s shoulder.

Handing the phone back, Phichit flicks his forehead. “Is that concern I hear in your voice, my sweet darling Yuuri?”

“Shut up,” Yuuri says, embarrassed. “I was just trying to read it.”

“Okay, okay.” Phichit kicks back, returning his attention to _Gossip Girl._ “Problem solved, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says softly, starting at Viktor’s last message and wondering if he’d made the wrong decision.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Okay! Don’t work too late, it’s important to eat dinner and sleep._

He picks his food up and puts the phone down. “I need to go grocery shopping,” he announces, and tries to forget about Viktor and phone numbers and whatever that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach is about.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_** (∩˃o˂∩)♡

/ / /

They go grocery shopping together, of course. It’s something they normally do; Yuuri would say it’s because otherwise he’d have no motivation to go; Phichit would say it’s because the two of them are practically married and this practice contributes to their marital harmony.

Admittedly, going outside to do something with Phichit, even something as mundane as grocery shopping, helps. It feels normal, as though life could actually continue as usual, and that’s reassuring to Yuuri.

Phichit frowns at his phone, checking his grocery list. “I feel like there was something I wanted yesterday that I didn’t write down, but I can’t remember it. Did I talk about something I needed last night, Yuuri?”

Yuuri tries to think back, unhurriedly pushing their cart down the aisle and around the corner.

And then he immediately backpedals and flattens himself against the shelves of canned anchovies because the universe apparently hated him, _specifically,_ more than any other human being.

“Yuuri?” Phichit looks at him quizzically. “What happened?”

_“Viktor!”_ Yuuri hisses through his teeth, praying that the other man doesn’t decide to turn around and head down this aisle.

“Viktor is here?”

“Shh! He could hear!” Yuuri chastises him.

Phichit is, of course, unfazed. “Oooh! I wanna see him!” He creeps up to the end of the aisle and peeks around the corner. “The silver haired one?”

Yuuri nods, then groans. “Why is he here? Why does he have to be here, of all places, at now of all times?”

“Maybe he’s grocery shopping after work!” Phichit suggests, obviously far more excited about the prospect of glimpsing Viktor than Yuuri is. “Also, hot damn, Yuuri, you didn’t lie. Your boss-friend-childhood crush is a _stud.”_

“He is _not_ my—”

“Oh yes he is, hush. Man, I wish my childhood friends showed up in my life looking like _that_ more often.”

Taking Phichit by the wrist, Yuuri yanks him back into the aisle. A middle aged lady walking by gives them a strange look, to which he nods apologetically. “Phichit, stop staring like a weirdo! We need to get out of here without him seeing us.”

“Without him seeing _you,”_ Phichit teases. “Speak for yourself!”

“I’m not kidding!” Yuuri huffs, trying to get Phichit to be serious. “I really, really _really_ do not want to meet Viktor right now, okay? Let’s just check out and go home before he sees me.”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Phichit surrenders, completely unapologetic. “It’ll be all right. If we pay and go home now I’m sure he won’t notice us.” He glances above Yuuri’s head, obviously surpressing a laugh. “Unless he decides he needs some canned anchovies, that is.”

_“Phichit,”_ Yuuri whines.

The boy in question narrowly avoid’s Yuuri’s frustrated smack. “Aaaand it looks like it’s time to go!” He grabs the cart and speeds away, leaving Yuuri to chase him toward the cash register.

Mercifully, they don’t see Viktor again that night.

/ / /

The next morning, Yuuri goes into work early to swing by his old department and make a valiant final plea to be transferred back.

“Sorry, Katsuki,” his former supervisor tells him with what seems like genuine regret. “Our hands are tied. Just give it a few months and you’ll be back here, okay?”

He’d known that would be the response, but it had been worth a try.

He also catches head reporter Okukawa in the lobby outside of the editing department, and makes one last attempt at trying to change her mind.

“—and honestly I can’t even speak English which means I’m no good at sorting products, so it would be probably best for everyone if you sent me back—”

“Katsuki Yuuri,” she says, fixing him with a glare that makes him, a full adult, stand up straight at attention. “Listen to me closely. I asked for you to be transferred here. I like your work and think you are fully capable of what you have been asked to do. The choice is yours: either you stay and do the job you have been given, or you quit working at _Icon!_ magazine _._ That is the last I’m going to say on this matter, am I understood?”

Yuuri understands. He hangs his head, accepting it for what it is; there’s nothing else that he can do. “I understand. Thank you.” By the time he looks up, all he can see is her tall, trim figure retreating into the depths of their office.

He exhales slowly, his shoulders drooping. So it has come to this. He’ll have to suck it up.

The door opens and Viktor appears suddenly, tall and imposing as ever in a perfectly-ironed black suit. Yuuri bows, but Viktor strides past without so much as looking at him, as though he wasn’t even there.

Yuuri watches him go. He’s become invisible to Viktor, he realizes.

Just like he had wanted.

_Right?_

/ / /

_Sending letters is too expensive when Viktor moves to America, so the two of them switch to email to communicate. It’s not as frequent as the letters were, even though it maybe should be considering the speed of delivery. But Viktor, happier in the U.S. than he had been in Hokkaido, is increasingly busy with school and clubs and… whatever else it is that he’s doing over there._

_Yuuri is busy, too. He throws himself into ice skating, even though he knows his grades are slipping and his class ranking is falling lower and lower._

_As the years go by, Yuuri competes in many competitions. When he was in middle school, he won a lot; he has several regional silver and gold medals hanging in his room. But as time goes on, he falters._

_A lot._

_“Don’t give up,” Viktor writes, so Yuuri doesn’t. Not yet._

_It’s so hard, though. There’s no spark waiting for him when he steps on the ice, no thrill of someone to skate with, or for, or because of._

_And as he grows, his insecurities, doubts, nerves… those grow too. He develops performance anxiety so severe that he can’t seem to land even one single triple jump in competition, no matter how well he lands them in practice._

_Yuuri know that he has no chance of going professional if he can’t land a triple in front of a judge._

_It doesn’t help that school stresses him out. He’s missing classes to travel and compete, and on top of all the practice time, Yuuri knows his scores are far below average. At this rate, he’ll never get into university._

_(He tells none of this to Viktor.)_

_All that means is that he has to skate. It’s the only talent he has._

_In Yuuri’s third year and final year of high school, while his classmates are preparing for college entrance exams, he’s training to qualify for the figure skating Grand Prix._

_It’s his last chance, and Yuuri knows it. If he can’t pull it together at seventeen, this isn’t going to work._

_At Regionals, he actually lands his triple combo, enough to boost him up to nationals, and he wonders if this is it. This is the season that he could make it._

_One month later, at Nationals, Yuuri attempts a quad and falls in competition. He falls so badly that he tears one of the large muscles in his leg and has to take the rest of the season off._

_When he wakes up in the hospital, Yuuri tells his coach that he’s done._

_He quits skating._

_Once discharged from the hospital, Yuuri returns home and puts his nose to the grindstone to study for the college entrance examinations. For five months, he studies math, English, science, and history like his life depends on it._

_The following fall, Yuuri takes the examination._

_He goes to university._

/ / /

It’s Friday today, and Yuuri has never seen the office so busy. They’re doing the feature shoot for this month’s issue today, which means that Katsuki Yuuri, editing intern, becomes Katsuki Yuuri, personal assistant to the entire editing staff and photo crew.

It’s around midmorning when he gets sent for coffee. This is no small order, considering that it’s for multiple departments, and Yuuri can hardly manage all the bags of cup carriers himself. To make it worse, it starts raining partway there, and he has to carry everything back without an umbrella.

Yuuri hates rain.

He does manage it, though, even if his hair is damp and messy and he’s not in the world’s most chipper mood. He arrives right into the thick of things at the photo studio, huffing and puffing a little after the exertion of dashing around with a couple kilos of liquid weighing him down.

“Yuuri!” Chris coos, the first to notice his arrival. “You brought coffee! What a dear!”

“About time,” Nishigori chuckles, descending as well.

“Katsuki,” Reporter Okukawa greets him shortly. She sticks a sparkling headpiece into his hand, exchanging it for a hot americano. “Take this accessory to the model, please.”

Yuuri scans the room, seeing that things are apparently on break. People are milling about, getting makeup done, toting clothing and products from one place or another, adjusting lighting. Viktor is there too, seated with the photographer behind the camera, apparently embroiled in a serious conversation about whatever photos are showing up on the small display screen in front of them.

The main model is still standing in the center of the set as someone fixes her eyeshadow, and Yuuri assumes that this is the person that Reporter Okukawa was referring to.

Trying to be quick, Yuuri strides over, hands holding the headpiece gingerly. The last thing he needs is to be reprimanded for hurting the set.

“Here,” he says, handing the headpiece to one of the assistants.

The girl thanks him distractedly, then does a double take and stares. Feeling her pause, the model looks over and stares too.

An awful feeling creeps down Yuuri’s neck; the feeling that he’s messed up, somehow, but doesn’t exactly know why.

“HEY!” Viktor bellows, and as the whole studio falls silent, Yuuri knows without a doubt that it’s directed at him. “What the _hell_ are you doing?”

Yuuri’s head bows automatically—and then he sees his mistake.

He hadn’t taken off his shoes before walking on set; the once-white floor is marred with dirty scuff marks from his damp shoes.

“Don’t you know _anything?”_ Viktor seethes, rising to his feet. “That’s the first rule of shoots! No shoes on set!”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says, his voice wavering. Trembling, he picks up his feet, removing his shoes quickly and holding them sheepishly in his hands.

Viktor’s eyes sweep down his form, narrowing in distaste. They focus a moment longer on his feet, and when Yuuri looks down again, he notices that his left sock is ripped, letting his big toe stick through. Humiliated, Yuuri curls his toe beneath his foot, shifting his weight from side to side.

“I—I will clean it,” he says, wishing that everyone would just _stop staring._ “I’m sorry.”

But Viktor isn’t done, evidently. He rubs his temples in frustration. “Who is responsible for hiring him?”

Reporter Okukawa steps forward immediately. “It’s my fault,” she tells the chief editor. “I hired him. He’s new and was transferred from a different department just last week, so he hasn’t learned the rules yet. It’s not his fault, I should have told him.”

“That’s no excuse,” Viktor counters. “Everyone who comes near the set should know this. _Everyone!”_

Yuuri’s heart breaks a little by little as he watches Viktor speak like this. This isn’t the Viktor that he knows. This isn’t the one that ate ice cream with him by the sea in Hasetsu. It’s not the Viktor who sends him smiling emoticons and asks how his day is.

If this is who Viktor is, Yuuri is glad he got to see what he has really become.

Viktor turns back to Yuuri then, anger still boiling in his eyes. For a moment, Yuuri wonders if he’s going to be fired on the spot. “Make sure you clean it well,” he hisses. “Everyone else take twenty!” He stalks off, and Yuuri bows his head once again in apology.

He doesn’t look up until Viktor leaves the room.

/ / /

“He’s an asshole,” Yuuri tells Phichit later that day as they wash up side by side in the bathroom. “A complete asshole. If I didn’t know it was true, I’d never believe he’s the same person I knew as a kid.”

Always indignant on behalf of his precious Yuuri, Phichit nods in agreement. “Just let me know if you need me to beat him up for you,” he says, eyes flashing as he starts to brush his teeth.

“No..” Yuuri says, pausing as he applies toothpaste to his toothbrush. “You don’t need to do that, because…”

“‘ecuz?” Phichit asks around a mouth full of toothpaste.

“Because I’m going to quit.”

Phichit spits toothpaste everywhere, and Yuuri jumps back in disgust. _“WHAT?_ No, you can’t!”

“I can, and I will,” Yuuri says, making a face as he wipes toothpaste off of his sweatshirt sleeve. “What I can’t do is live like this, letting him trample all over my happiest memories. I think it’s best if I just resign, before he fires me first.”

“But Yuuri—your job—“

“I know,” Yuuri says glumly. “What other choice do I have, though? Either I stay and I have to deal with Viktor until he inevitably kicks me out, or I quit.”

Phichit gives him a look that reveals just how heavy his heart feels at this news, and it hurts.

“I know,” Yuuri says, agreeing with the unsaid words. “It sucks. It really does. But I’ve already written my letter of resignation; I did it as soon as I got home from work.” He sticks the toothbrush in his mouth in lieu of saying anything more.

“As you know,” Phichit says slowly, “I’ll support you in whatever you do, Yuuri. Even if I don’t agree.”

Yuuri nods, because he knows. Overcome by emotion suddenly, he lets go of the toothbrush still in his mouth and throws his arms around his housemate.

“Y’r th ‘est,” he mutters, chin resting on his shoulder.

“I know,” Phichit says. “Now brush your teeth before you slobber toothpaste all over me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr to chat or ask questions at @dahlkom!


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends~
> 
> Another chapter is out! Please forgive any mistakes and writer's block, as I am a chaotically under-organized writer. That's what makes it fun, right? ;)
> 
> In this chapter we find out more interesting things and also contemplate how gay Viktor and Yuuri are for each other. To be precise, they are very gay. For each other.
> 
> I have changed the chapter count from 8 total to ??? total because I realized that this story controls me and not the other way around. I still expect it to be around that length but, y'know. Unprecedented times and all that.
> 
> Final note: I have been meditating on how to translate the (bi?tri?)lingual nature of these characters into this fic and am open to conversation on that. I myself speak several languages and am also in an interracial/cultural/lingual relationship so I've been pulling on my own experience, but I would love to talk about it, so if you want to chat with me (or fight me) about that, feel free!
> 
> With that said, enjoy!

_When Yuuri starts high school, he starts using a newer email platform for schoolwork, applying for part time jobs, contacting his coach, and just about everything else. By the time he reaches his final year of high school, the only emails he gets in his old inbox are spam messages and emails from Viktor. He leaves it logged in on his laptop, and even though they are sometimes many weeks apart, it always brings a smile to his face to click it open and see a message waiting from Viktor Nikiforov._

_Viktor always follows Yuuri’s competitions, Yuuri knows. When he wins gold at Regionals, it makes some local news, and Viktor’s next email contains a screenshot of the article._

_“You did it!” Viktor writes. “I’m so proud! I just know you’re going to make it to the Grand Prix soon.”_

_Things change when Yuuri is injured at Nationals. That, too, gets covered by the press, and obviously Viktor hears of it._

_“Can I have your phone number?” Viktor writes the very next day. “I read that you got injured and I’ve been worried about you all night. It would give me a lot of peace to call and hear your voice, just to know that you’re okay.”_

_It’s true that they’ve lost phone contact over the years; when Viktor had moved to the U.S., he had obviously changed numbers, and Yuuri too has switched lines over the years as he got older._

_But somehow Yuuri can’t bring himself to reply to Viktor’s email, not even during the long days when he has nothing to do but sit in the hospital and stare at the TV as his injury heals. It’s partially because he can’t seem to bring himself to do_ anything, _and partially because he’s already decided that he’s done skating, and he has a feeling that this news will break Viktor’s heart._

_The weeks drag on, and Yuuri moves home to recover and study for his college entrance exams. Slowly, he regains use of his leg, and even though it registers with him that it should make him happy, he doesn’t feel happy._

_He still doesn’t answer the email._

_And then, about a month after Yuuri’s injury, he makes a huge mistake._

_He’s helping his mom clean his room one day, and even though he can’t move around much to help her vacuum, he offers to take the sheets off of his bed._

_His mistake is setting his laptop on his open window sill, just for one second, while he tugs up the lower bedding. It’s one second too long._

_While reaching toward the other corner of the bed where the sheet is caught on the edge of the mattress (in lieu of moving because, well, it hurts), Yuuri’s shoulder bumps his laptop and it falls out the window, two stories down, with a muffled crash._

_That’s the end of Yuuri’s laptop. It’s not convenient to replace, though Yuuri does get to pick a nicer model that’s less laggy and lighter to carry around. He loses some photos, and has to redo the essay he had been in the middle of writing, which all kind of sucks, but ends up being mostly replaceable._

_It’s not till Yuuri tries to log into his email accounts that he realizes the most important thing he had lost: his old email login information._

_It’s been so long since he had logged into that account that he can’t remember his password, and while he could swear he’d written it down somewhere, there’s no sign of such a note, no matter how many times he combs through his desk._

_Even worse, it’s such an old email platform that it doesn’t have many password recovery options. Apparently, 9-year-old Yuuri hadn’t set up security questions when he had made his account._

_After four days of trying to find ways to get into his inbox, Yuuri begins to resign himself to the idea that he is well and truly locked out of his childhood email account._

_It kills Yuuri, because that is the only place that he had saved Viktor’s email address._

_Meaning: Yuuri has no way to contact Viktor anymore, and it’s entirely his own fault. If he had been responsible with his login information, or switched to contacting him with his current address, or written Viktor’s email down somewhere, or managed to_ not _knock his laptop out of a window, this never would have happened._

_Or if Yuuri had just replied to Viktor’s last email and given him his phone number._

_That’s what eats Yuuri up the most; the fact that he’d never even written back to Viktor that last time, and that Viktor’s worried message will sit unanswered in his inbox forever._

_“Don’t worry about me,” is what Yuuri wishes he had written. “I’m going to be fine. I’m going to go to college and start over.”_

_But he can’t say that because of his own series of mistakes, so instead their friendship comes to a standstill, like a symphony halted abruptly in the middle and followed by radio silence._

_/ / /_

In Viktor’s apartment, this Saturday morning is much like every other Saturday morning. He’s cracked open the curtains in his living room, letting light spill in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that span two of the walls.

The strip of sunshine peeking through is just about the only warm thing in the apartment. It’s not that Viktor hates color and warmth, to be honest, but he cares more about the feeling of the art he curates than decorating his home, especially when heaven knows when he’ll move again. That, and the work that he puts together for his job is out in the world with his name attached. No one is staking his professional reputation on his apartment decor.

_I’m distracted again,_ Viktor thinks, rubbing at his temple before turning back to the different feature mockups sitting on the table in front of him. He just can’t seem to pick. Whenever he settles on one, he suddenly starts to wonder if he’s crazy and one of the other two is actually better.

Damnit. The stakes of this job are incredibly high, and this is hardly the time for him to be losing his touch. He’s usually so decisive; over the years, he’s learned that the best way to come out on top is to surprise people.

The problem is, nothing seems unique anymore.

Is he running out of ideas?

Frustrated, he stands, pacing around his living room with his hands behind his back. He turns abruptly to face Makkachin, who is collapsed on the sofa in a pile of curly fur. “Am I getting old?” Viktor asks him seriously, face drawn.

Makka lifts one ear, as though he’s considering listening, then snuffles and turns his head away.

Viktor, too, drops onto the couch. Since when had it become like this? When he was younger, he had just liked art. He had loved to put things together, pair pieces with one another, that kind of thing. Of course, when he started working in the fashion world, he’d learned that there was more to making it than just following one’s heart, but he’d still liked his work.

But now that he’d reached a position such as this, it wasn’t enough to be good. He had to be the best, both for himself and for the sake of his employees. Viktor can do that. He knows he can. It’s the reason why he’s being given a unique chance like this opportunity at _Icon!_.

Still, Viktor does find that he misses the days when dreaming up a magazine spread had been a joyful task and not one of the million minute details that would ultimately make or break his career.

Although, to be fair, working at _Icon!_ has been complicated for other reasons.

Viktor likes to think of himself as impartial and fair, but there’s a certain black-haired, round-faced man at the office who is making that easier said than done. Viktor can’t deny anymore that this guy is getting to him. The first time Chris had tried to introduce him, just hearing the name _Katsuki Yuuri_ sent off warning bells in his head. He’d headed straight to his office and sunk down in his chair, mind blaring with questions. How could Yuuri be here, in this office? Under _his_ supervision?

But as soon as he’d begun to question, he’d realized that it had to be a coincidence. It wasn’t as though it was impossible for there to be two Yuuris in the world, even if they did seem to have the same family name (and it _is_ the same, because Viktor had checked his name tag to see the kanji).

Viktor knows what his Yuuri looks like. It isn’t as though he hasn’t spent hours staring at Yuuri’s face in the photo he had sent, and even if they have similar height and coloring, Yuuri-at-work is quite obviously a different person.

His Yuuri, posing in front of some giant building in Seoul, looks a lot like he had as a child: shiny black bangs, slender limbs, slim cheeks. If anything, he looks even more bony than he had at thirteen. He doesn’t have the same expression, either; no curious sparkle to his eyes. Rather, he looks over-confident, a smirk playing across his lips. But people change over time, after all.

Viktor knows that well.

Melting back into the cushions, Viktor strokes Makka’s head, staring up at the ceiling in thought. He’s stressed about this position. The stakes are high, and he’s learned enough in the fashion industry so far that he knows what he has to do in order to make this work. His time at _Icon!_ is either going to make or break him.

But…. the presence of this Katsuki guy bothers him. It feels like he’s _everywhere:_ bumping into him in the office, in the bathroom, heck, Viktor had even seen him dashing to the line at the grocery store once. He can’t get away from him.

If he’s honest with himself, Viktor knows that this is bothering him more than it should. He’s a complete stranger. They have nothing to do with each other. But something about just hearing the name _Katsuki Yuuri_ fire off in his brain every time he sets eyes on him or seeing it written innocently on his nametag makes Viktor’s emotions run high. It’s like he has a bruise and the sight of this Katsuki guy pokes straight into it, right where it already hurts.

When he thinks about it now, Viktor does sort of regret what he’d done the day before. It had been in the heat of the moment; the photoshoot hadn’t been going smoothly and he’d already been concerned about the outcome. And to have it delayed due to some temporary hire’s incompetence? That was _beyond_ frustrating. Still… Viktor has an unshakable feeling that he might not have reacted so harshly if it had been anyone else who had accidentally worn their shoes on set.

At the end of the day, though, it is what it is. Viktor can’t afford to mess up now. His entire career is riding on the next two months, and he can’t let even a single thing go wrong, not even for the sake of the feelings of some random stranger whose name is too familiar for comfort.

After all, it’s _everyone_ who will be affected if Viktor can’t pull it together.

Next to him, Makkachin rolls over and shoves his head into Viktor’s lap. _Demanding,_ Viktor thinks, affectionately scratching his ear.

There’s something else that has been impeding his focus ever since he got to Japan. He’d anticipating seeing Yuuri. Admittedly, the thought of maybe finding him again had been motivation for taking a job in Japan (though, of course, living there when he was young, and the fact that he’d continued to study Japanese up through college to achieve fluency were also in the mix). When he’d seen that Yuuri was living in Tokyo, he’d let himself get a bit carried away imagining what it would be like to reunite.

However, not only is Yuuri in a whole different country, he’s also been acting weird. Viktor has about a million questions about everything: why Yuuri had stopped answering his emails so long ago, why he had quit skating, _everything_ , but whenever he texts Yuuri his answers are short and cryptic, as though he’s too busy to actually talk. Or maybe… maybe he doesn’t actually want to.

If only they had seen each other in person at least once. It would have been so much easier to understand if they had just been able to talk face to face.

So yeah, maybe Viktor is a bit too sensitive and a bit too hard on one Katsuki Yuuri whose only crime was sharing a name with a person that Viktor had once loved.

Looking out over his large, empty apartment, Viktor sighs. He leans down to kiss Makka’s warm head, then buries his face in his soft fur.

“What is wrong with me?” Viktor asks him, but all he gets in response is a snuffly dog-snore.

_/ / /_

The only redeeming part about the fiasco at work is that it had happened on a Friday, and Yuuri gets two blessed days of weekend to completely ignore what had happened.

He spends Saturday cleaning their apartment while Phichit is at work, and even cooks dinner for them both for a change. Phichit is delighted when he gets home, if not a little suspicious of what Yuuri has made.

“I promise it’s edible,” Yuuri assures him as he dishes curry onto both of their plates. “I tried it earlier myself.”

Phichit agrees that it is, indeed edible. “I’m impressed,” he tells Yuuri, grinning even though his expression seems unusually tired. “You’ve improved.”

Yuuri grins. “I didn’t even burn anything this time,” he quips. He’s been in a better mood today, for some reason. There was something cathartic about what had happened the day before, even if it hadn’t been pleasant. He’s made his choice now, and he’s going to accept it.

The good mood doesn’t last, though. When he wakes up on Sunday, the seriousness of his decision to quit begins to weigh on him, and despite his former resolve, he’s feeling niggling doubts about whether or not it’s the right choice.

In the afternoon, as is his tradition, Yuuri calls his family.

Talking with his mother and father can always convince Yuuri that nothing in the world is amiss. His parents are both good-humored and caring, and Yuuri knows that they would give him the world if they could. He has a great family.

Yuuri also knows that his parents would never tell him if they were having a hard time, which is why it’s always necessary to talk to Mari, too.

“Hey, little bro,” Mari says when Yuuri’s parents pass the phone over. “How’s life as a company man?”

“Ah,” Yuuri says. He briefly considers telling her about quitting, but thinks better of it. He’ll tell her once he’s actually left the company. It can wait till then, right? “Stressful, but okay. I’m glad that I have a job.”

“Well, I am too,” Mari laughs. “You’re going to send money to Mom and Dad, right? Things have been hard up at the inn, not that they would tell you that. One of our big water filters broke, and we haven’t figured out where to get the thousands of dollars we need to fix it.” She sighs, voice serious. “Though, to be honest, we really need to replace the entire system of units. I have a feeling that the other main is going to blow in another month or two."

Yuuri’s stomach drops like a rock. This was one of the biggest reasons he had wanted to have a job: so that he doesn’t have to stand idly by anymore when his family needs help. His parents love him regardless, but at his core, Yuuri is a dutiful Japanese son. He wants to help. “I’ll send money over when I get my paycheck in two weeks,” he promises. “Replace the whole system now; it’s better than waiting for another disaster.”

“Ah,” Mari sighs into the phone. “Do you hear that? That’s the sound of true luxury: having a good filial brother to pay all the family bills.”

Yuuri smiles at that. “Don’t get too comfortable yet,” he says. He definitely doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he’s quitting now.

After he hangs up, Yuuri sits silently for a long minute to consider what to do now. If he quits now, his less-than-a-month of pay will not let him spare the money for an entire water filtration unit. Especially not of the size that a facility like his parents’ inn requires.

He could go back to part time work, he thinks. But that would take another several months to earn the difference, and he had promised the money in two weeks. Plus, he still needs to _eat._

Or…

Or he could choose not to quit.

For a moment, the scene from two days ago flashes before Yuuri’s eyes, and he winces. Yeah, that’s not an option. He can’t handle being yelled at by Viktor again.

Irritated, Yuuri rubs at his forehead. Fricking _Viktor._ Who is this guy, anyway, to drive Yuuri away from his first good, well-paying job? If it wasn’t for him…

_No,_ Yuuri thinks suddenly. If Yuuri quits now, it’s all his own decision. He would be _letting_ Viktor drive him away. And, personal feelings aside, there’s absolutely no reason why he needs to let his boss walk all over him.

Especially when he needs the money.

Yuuri sits straighter in his chair, a new resolve coursing through him. He’s not going to quit. In fact, the best response to this new, asshole version of Viktor is to prove that he can’t get to Yuuri.

What was it that Yuuri had said at his interview?

_I’m a hard worker._

_I can adapt to just about any task._

Standing, Yuuri paces over to his room and picks up the resignation letter he had written on Friday. He holds it for a brief moment, and then begins to tear it to pieces on his desk. It’s satisfying in a deep, visceral way.

Yuuri had earned this job, had earned a transfer to a more prestigious department. He is going to keep this job if it kills him, and not even Viktor Nikiforov’s disdain can keep him from proving that he can live up to everything that the people around him had seen in him.

/ / /

There’s a new spring in Yuuri’s step when he arrives at the office on Monday morning. Even his supervisor, Reporter Okukawa, notices.

“You seem unusually bright today, Yuuri,” she notes, handing him a stack of papers that she had presumably completed over the weekend.

“Not at all,” Yuuri says, smiling despite himself. “Just well-rested.”

She looks at him with a note of curiosity, then appears to catch herself. “Well, good. Hopefully you can apply that to your work.”

“Yes ma’am,” Yuuri agrees, bowing slightly. Papers in hand, he returns to his desk, eager to prove his worth.

“ _Yuu_ ri,” a voice murmurs behind his left ear. Yuuri nearly falls out of his chair, then bites back some rather un-Yuuri-like remarks that are threatening to burst out. “Had a good weekend, I hear?”

“Ah, yes, um.” Yuuri swallows, because the flirtatiousness of Chris’s expression is suddenly dialed up to about a twelve and Yuuri has no idea what to do about that. “It was good. You, uh. How was yours? Yes, that’s right.”

“Fabulous.” Chris winks. “Oh, I brought you something.” Casually reaching over his shoulder, Chris drops something on his desk. “Just a little congratulations for making it through your first week.”

“Oh,” Yuuri stammers, trying to pull himself together. “Thanks.”

“No problem! See you at our meeting.” Another wink.

Turning back to his desk, Yuuri finds a chocolate bar.

_Well,_ Yuuri thinks, _I guess I deserve it._ He peels it open and takes a bite. Yum—milk chocolate, his favorite. Maybe Chris is a pretty good coworker, even if he is a little strange.

Then it hits him. He whirls around.

“Meeting?” he asks in Chris’s general direction.

“Yep. Viktor is starting our all-staff meetings today. It’s at ten sharp.”

That’s in ten minutes. “But,” Yuuri says, mind racing for excuses. “I’m just a temp! There’s no need for me to be at it, right? Surely the chief editor won’t care what I have to say!”

“Don’t be silly,” Chris laughs. “You’re part of the office, Yuuri!

“I.” Yuuri feels his face going white. “Um. I don’t… make decisions? So there’s no need—”

“Full staff meeting in nine minutes!” Viktor’s voice booms across the office. (Yuuri absolutely does not take a moment to dwell on his voice and process that Viktor still has a Russian accent in Japanese, though it’s faded slightly more American over time).

“Hey, Viktor!” Chris calls. “That includes Yuuri, right?”

_Why._ Yuuri feels Viktor’s eyes on him, hot like a flame, and does not dare to meet them.

“Did I not say ‘full staff?’” Viktor asks. Yuuri still refuses to look. “That includes _everyone,_ even Katsuki. I’ll see you all at ten.”

When the click of Viktor’s shoes fades into the meeting room, Yuuri trusts himself to breathe.

_Fuck._

Yuuri hangs back as all the other staff file into the office, only joining them when he’s the last person and he knows he absolutely has to.

Thankfully, it seems like everyone is busy dwelling on their own nerves before facing Viktor Nikiforov, and no one pays attention as Yuuri sets up to take meeting notes like Reporter Okukawa had asked him to on the way in. It’s true that Yuuri had probably had the most stressful encounter with him so far, but it’s not only on Yuuri’s account that Viktor had won himself a reputation for being picky in a single week.

Viktor is punctual (just like he was as a child, Yuuri doesn’t think) so they start the meeting exactly at ten. The room isn’t such a big one, considering how small their office is, and Viktor’s presence dominates it as he crosses his legs and leans back in his chair.

“So,” he says, taking a glance around the room. When he gets to Yuuri, he looks away quickly. “This month’s issue is just about done, yes?”

“It’ll be sent to the graphics team for touchups this afternoon,” Reporter Okukawa assures him.

“Good. In that case, the order of this meeting will be planning for next month’s issue. It’s our anniversary special edition issue, and my job here is to make sure it is absolutely _perfect.”_ There is not an ounce of humor in Viktor’s expression. “Am I understood?”

Various iterations of _yes_ echo around the room in response.

“Good.” Without hesitation, Viktor gets to his feet and retracts the projector screen that is hanging in front of the the whiteboard. He uncaps a marker with a sharp _click._ “What we need now are ideas, which I assume you’ve already been planning, if you’re professionals in the way that I expect. Am I right?”

Some heads nod hesitantly. Others simply stare.

Viktor rubs his forehead with his hand and says something unintelligible in Russian. “Okay. Let’s hear your ideas.”

Silence.

“I’m listening.”

Tentatively, Minami raises a hand. “What about a feature on international pop singers’ outfits? Artists from other countries are trending these days…”

Viktor shakes his head. “Every single store in the street markets are reselling fake _off-the-rack_ copies of K-pop idols’ outfits and jewelry. Are we supposed to be on the same level as cheap free-size clothing stalls?”

Cowed by the response, Minami lowers his hand.

Yuuri pauses at his keyboard. _Off-the-rack?_ Must be English… but Yuuri has no idea what it means, or how to spell it even in Japanese Katakana letters. Nervous, he makes his best guess and moves on.

Reporter Okukawa speaks up next. “What about home decor? We could do an _editorial_ in celebrities’ homes and identify trend items. You know that interior design has been popular recently.”

_Editorial,_ Yuuri despairs. Why can’t they just use Japanese? Why all the confusing English words?

“And you plan to gain access to celebrity homes _how?”_ Viktor cocks an eyebrow. “To get enough images for the main story we’d have to convince at least five _high-profile_ people to allow us inside within the month. Besides, it’s been done before, take a look at _Be-U’s_ March issue.”

“Celebrity couples?”

“Are we a gossip magazine?”

“Hairstyles?” Christ suggests.

“Getting enough different hair models would be far too expensive.”

“We could do a _spec shoot?”_

“ _Icon!_ doesn’t do _spec shoots,”_ Viktor snorts. “We pay our talent, fair and square. Plus, these ideas are all just recycling what is already circling around.” Frustrated, Viktor caps the marker and slams it down on the table, the whiteboard behind him still untouched. “ _This_ is why _Icon!_ has been hitting rank two or three and hasn’t beaten _Be-U’s_ sales in over two years! Don’t you see? If you sell the same stories and trends as everyone else, you’ll sell, sure. But you can never be number one unless you can surprise people.”

Yuuri pauses in the corner where he’s still freaking out about whatever the heck a _spec shoot_ is and how he’s expected to type it. Viktor is being harsh, it’s true, but he’s also not wrong. It’s a lot like what Viktor used to tell him while he watched him put together programs for his competitions.

“Now,” Viktor continues, evidently calming down. “Does _anyone_ here have a unique idea? Or am I going to have to call a second meeting on Thursday to get anything worth considering?”

/ / /

No one is surprised when Viktor ends the meeting early and schedules a second one in three days. They all leave the meeting quieter than before, each person stressing about what to suggest, since Viktor had demanded that each team member come up with at least one good idea and present it on Thursday.

Of course, that doesn’t apply to Yuuri. No, Yuuri’s biggest problem now is editing the meeting notes that he’s expected to take to Viktor’s office as soon as possible.

Meeting notes that are riddled with question marks and misspelled English words whose meanings are completely beyond Yuuri’s grasp.

It’s not for lack of trying, to be fair. He’d attempted to ask his supervisor directly after the meeting, but she’d had to take a phone call right away. Chris had been away from his desk ever since the meeting had ended, and attempts to ask Toyomura, Minami, and even Takeshi had all been failures, as they were constantly halfway in between tasks, too busy to talk.

After nearly an hour, with the knowledge that he has other work that he was expected to finish that day, Yuuri has to give up and simply print his notes as is. Hopefully, Viktor will be lenient.

It is in this state that Yuuri, trying his best to control his trembling limbs, knocks on Viktor’s office door.

“Come in.”

Yuuri does. It’s really weird to be standing in Viktor’s office. It’s the first time since they had met in the bathroom on the Viktor’s first day that they had been alone in a room together, and Yuuri is trying hard not to think about it.

If Viktor feels anything in particular when he glances up and sees that it’s Yuuri who just walked in, he doesn’t show it. Barely looking away from his screen, he asks, “Meeting notes?”

Yuuri nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“Put them on my desk.”

Tentatively, Yuuri moves forward—within feet of Viktor—and sets the papers gingerly in front of him. Then he backs away. Viktor doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Yuuri isn’t sure what to do.

He’s just decided that Viktor’s lack of response is his cue to leave and is heading for the door when Viktor’s voice sounds behind him.

“Hold on.”

Yuuri freezes. The notes are in Viktor’s hands, and he’s looking over them, his frown deepening the more he reads.

“What is this?”

Yuuri blinks. “Um… the notes…?” He’s messed up. Again. Crap.

“Tell me, Mr. Katsuki. What is a ‘hai profail?’”

Yuuri swallows. “I’m so sorry,” he says, quiet with embarrassment. “I… my English isn’t that good, and everyone used many words I’ve never heard of…”

“If that’s the case, maybe you’re in the wrong industry.” Viktor’s eyes narrow as he sets the notes down. “These are terms you need to know to do your work properly.”

“I—I was just transferred here,” Yuuri tries to explain. “No one has had time to teach me anything.”

“Then learn it yourself.” Viktor turns back to his computer. “Or quit. It’s your choice.”

Yuuri stands there for a long, awkward moment, unsure if he’s dismissed or not. Viktor’s eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at his screen, and despite himself, Yuuri thinks about how handsome he looks when he’s focused.

Viktor looks up. “Shouldn’t you be leaving?”

“Ah, yes,” Yuuri all but squeaks, and scampers out of the office.

/ / /

Yuuri knows Phichit loves him. After all, if he didn’t love him, why would he have put up with Yuuri’s bullshit for this long? That said, Yuuri really shouldn’t be surprised when Phichit needs a day off, because, to be fair, Yuuri has had a lot of bullshit to deal with recently.

Then again, Yuuri does have a tendency to get wrapped up in his own anxieties to the point where he has tunnel vision, which is the case today when Phichit walks in the door, late at night, looking absolutely exhausted from work.

“Hey, Yuuri,” he says with a mostly-there smile.

“Hi,” Yuuri replies, curled up on the sofa with a pillow in his arms. “Phichit, maybe I should have quit. Viktor hates me. I know it, he detests me! After Friday’s mess I can’t believe I messed up in front of him _again._ He even said ‘maybe you’re in the wrong industry!’ right to my face! And he says that I need to learn this whole other _language_ just to keep my job—”

“Then maybe he’s right!” Phichit groans, putting his coat on a peg and collapsing into a chair. “Jesus, Yuuri, for just _one_ night can we _not_ talk about your long-lost-asshole friend?”

Stunned, Yuuri sits up. “O-oh,” he stammers. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking about you at all.” He finally registers how exhausted Phichit looks and guilt kicks him in the stomach. “Are you okay? We don’t have to talk about my job.”

Phichit rubs his face with both hands. “No… I didn’t mean it. Sorry, Yuuri. It’s been a long day.”

“No, no, it’s okay!”

“I know your job is stressing you out,” Phichit says. “I promise I care. I’m just tired.”

“Is it work? Or… your dad?”

Rolling his eyes, Phichit sighs. “Both. All of the above. It’s best to forget about it.” He pats Yuuri’s arm as he flutters worriedly around him. “Sorry for snapping, but I stand by my point. If your problem is not understanding work terms, you need to study them.”

Yuuri blinks at him. “But…”

“Listen, Yuuri, this is part of being in a professional field. If you were in engineering, you’d need to know engineering language. If you worked in the restaurant I manage, you’d need to know the codes for every waiter’s sections or the names of each cut of meat. Just because it’s fashion doesn’t make it different, and I know you didn’t exactly choose this, but if you are going to work at a fashion magazine you’ll have to get yourself up to speed eventually.”

It wasn’t exactly what Yuuri had expected Phichit—who pretty much always takes Yuuri’s side—to say, but coming from him, it hits home more. “Well… I guess you’re right. Maybe I’d better start studying.”

“I’ll help you,” Phichit says with a half smile. “As long as you feed me first.”

Yuuri hesitates. “You really don’t want to talk about your—”

“ _Donburi,”_ Phichit says. “Those rice bowls sound really good. There’s a _donburi_ place just down the street, yeah?”

Accepting defeat, Yuuri plops back down on the sofa. “Yeah, there is. Want me to go pick some up?”

“I love you,” Phichit says, fluttering his eyelashes. “You’re the only one for me, Yuuri. My one true soulmate.”

Yuuri chortles as he fumbles for his phone to find the menu. “You’re just saying that so I’ll buy dinner.”

“What? Of course not. My love for you is not that shallow. It is deeper than the oceans—”

“Aaaaand I’m leaving,” Yuuri says, springing to his feet to find his coat. “See you in a few minutes!”

/ / /

The next day of work feels even longer than usual due to how tired Yuuri is. He’d stayed up most of the night before taking Phichit’s advice and studying fashion magazines. He’s starting with makeup items, considering how often he’s tried and failed to sort sample products correctly like he’d been asked.

However, the result is that a long day feels even longer under the weight of sleepy eyelids.

“Yuuuuuri,” Chris says, showing up at his desk around 6 PM like clockwork. “Let’s go eat sweet potatoes!”

“Not today,” Yuuri says, yawning. “I’m too tired—”

“But you _promised,_ ” Chris says, pulling out puppy eyes that Yuuri didn’t even know he’d had. “Come on! Food will give you energy!”

Yuuri is, of course, famously bad at saying no.

Standing in front of the street vendor, blowing on a scorching hot potato, Yuuri has to admit that this is not such a terrible fate. The freshness of the cool evening air is giving him energy he hadn’t known he had, and his coworker isn’t the worst of company.

Beside him, Chris is digging in with an impressive appetite. Yuuri watches in awe as he orders a second, then drags him down the street to a park.

“So,” Chris says, wiping his mouth delicately after wolfing down his second cup of potatoes, “Want to talk about how you have the hots for our editor-in-chief?”

Yuuri nearly spits sweet potato across Chris’s face. _“What?_ No! I don’t!”

“Oh? So the way you blush and stammer every time you’re in the same room as him is just a coincidence?”

Yuuri blushes as if on cue, then immediately hates himself. “No! That’s just… no.” He shakes his head vehemently. “It’s complicated.”

“Meaning… you like him?”

“No!”

“Then you’re archenemies?”

“Well, no,” Yuuri laughs. “But closer, I guess.”

Chris gives him an unconvinced look. “I mean. I know he can kind of be an asshole when he’s getting stuff done, but you have to respect the guy. He does fantastic work, and his talent is pretty much unparalleled. You know he was in charge of a whole magazine in the U.S., right? I’ve been following his work for years.”

Yuuri hadn’t known that. Trust Viktor to succeed like this on his own. Faintly, Yuuri feels something like pride over how he’d turned out.

“Anyway, if you don’t like him and don’t hate his guts, what’s with you two?”

Yuuri sighs, wondering how and where to begin with a safe explanation. “When it comes to Viktor…” He stops himself, open-mouthed, realizing what he’d just said.

Chris chuckles. “Viktor, eh? Not Editor-In-Chief? Not even Mr. Nikiforov?”

“It’s… no! _You_ call him Viktor!”

“I call everyone by their first names,” Chris points out. “And I get away with it, too.”

Yuuri can’t argue with that. “Anyway,” he clears his throat, hoping Chris will forget about that. “Mr. _Nikiforov_ is my boss, and he hasn’t been particularly kind to me. It’s natural for me to get flustered when he’s around.”

Yet again, Chris doesn’t look like he believes him completely, but something about what Yuuri had said must have convinced him not to push it. Standing up abruptly, Chris grabs his hand. “Yuuri! Let’s go drinking!”

“Aaaand that’s a definite no,” Yuuri says, quickly withdrawing his hand. Him, drunk, with Chris the office gossip? It’s not a combination Yuuri plans to test out. “I really do need to get home. Thanks for hanging out with me, though.”

“Next time,” Chris assures him. “We’ll go drinking next time.”

/ / /

**_Viktor Nikiforov: Hi Yuuri~!_ **

**_Viktor Nikiforov: How are you doing?_ **

Phichit glances at his phone, expecting a text from his dad, but instead finds his first text from Viktor. _Interesting._

He’s on his evening shift, but dinner rush is over, and no one will miss him on the floor for a few minutes. He’s due for a break, anyway, so he slips into his office for a minute and sits down to think about how to answer.

Channelling Yuuri can’t be all that hard. He just has to act like the sweetest person ever, after all.

**_Yuuri Katsuki: Hey, Viktor_ **

**_Yuuri Katsuki: I’m doing well. Lots of homework, haha_ **

**_Yuuri Katsuki: How is work? It must be stressful_ **

He sets his phone down for a minute, looking over his employees’ schedules on a paper that happens to be lying on the table. Phichit is good at his job and he knows it. He may not have gotten a top manager position at one of his father’s five-star restaurants on his own, but he can’t deny that it suits him well. He likes good food, and could cook any of the dishes himself. He makes it his priority to know the whole menu. He’s good at diffusing situations with good humor and a smile, too, which makes him fantastic at striking the balance between protecting his employees from rude customers and avoiding bad service reviews.

The only thing that doesn’t sit right about it is that he’s been placed above so many managers and staff that have been working up through the hierarchy for _years,_ only for the sake of good old-fashioned nepotism.

But what choice does he have? Phichit had stayed in Thailand to nurse his mom for so many years, even giving up university to do so. It was only after her death that he’d found himself without any marketable skills or a family to support him. If it wasn’t for his father, he’d be jobless and penniless.

Not that it made him like his father or good-for-nothing stepmother any more. It was hard to forgive a father that cheated, and even harder to forgive the woman who had enticed him to abandon his family.

Phichit’s thoughts are interrupted by another text.

**_Viktor Nikiforov: Work is boring compared to hearing about you_ (°** ◡ **°** **♡** **)**

Well, that’s cheesy as _fuck_. Phichit rolls his eyes. He’s not entirely sure how he feels about this Viktor character. He’s obviously drop-dead-gorgeous, Phichit has seen that much with his own eyes. He’s also been kind and understanding to Yuuri as his childhood friend, but incredibly hard on him at work.

What is for sure is that there’s no way that Viktor deserves Yuuri, and Phichit’s job is to make sure that Viktor’s opinion of him stays good but eventually leaves him alone.

**_Yuuri Katsuki: Haha, no, my life is pretty boring as well_ **

**_Yuuri Katsuki: Just work, home, work, home_ **

_Oh,_ Phichit realizes. Right. Viktor thinks that Yuuri is a student.

**_Yuuri Katsuki: Schoolwork, I mean!_ **

He taps his finger on the table, waiting for a response.

**_Viktor Nikiforov: Oh? Are you eating and sleeping well?_ **

**_Viktor Nikiforov: Does Korean food suit you? I hear they eat a lot of raw food there and I know it doesn’t suit your stomach well_ (** ◕⌓◕ **;)**

_It’s kinda sweet_ , Phichit thinks. He seems to remember a lot of details about Yuuri. Even Phichit hadn’t known that Yuuri didn’t like raw food. _This must be why Yuuri likes him._

**_Yuuri Katsuki: Oh, don’t worry! Raw food isn’t so common. There’s plenty of cooked food. I’m eating well._ **

**_Yuuri Katsuki: You’re eating well, too, right?_ **

**_Viktor Nikiforov: Oh, of course! I’ve been missing Japanese food for fourteen years, you know_ (^** **ワ** **^** **＝** **)**

Phichit doesn’t know, but he can pretend.

**_Yuuri Katsuki: Yeah, that’s right. I remember how much you liked it…_ **

Another notification.

**_Viktor Nikiforov: I need be careful around here to keep in shape… those rice bowls might be the death of me!_ **

A memory from a previous day pops back into Phichit’s mind.

**_Yuuri Katsuki: Aww, man, now I miss katsudon…_ **

Viktor’s response is immediate.

**_Viktor Nikiforov: Your favorite! No one makes it better than your mother~!_ **

Phichit can’t remember if he’d ever had _katsudon_ at Yuuri’s family inn. Frankly, he’s a little jealous.

**_Viktor Nikiforov: When you come back to Japan, let’s eat it together, okay~?_ **

Sighing, he contemplates his phone screen. What is is supposed to say to that?

**_Yuuri Katsuki: Oh, sure! I gotta go now… homework is calling_ **

His phone vibrates as soon as he hits the send button.

**_Father: Call me after your shift_ **

Phichit’s mood drops. He’d better get back to work, it seems. As he stands up, another message arrives.

**_Viktor Nikiforov: Good luck! I know you’ll do great~!_ **

The tiniest of smiles worms its way back onto Phichit’s face.

It’s not meant for him, but it helps a tiny bit, all the same.

/ / /

By the time the meeting on Thursday rolls around, Yuuri thinks that he’s learned enough to keep up. After all, he’s studied so much terminology that he feels like it’s going to come out his ears. The room buzzes with nervousness, and Yuuri knows it’s because of the feature issue. Not for the first time, Yuuri is thankful that he’s just a temporary editor. He hates pressure.

Unfortunately, the meeting doesn’t get off to a positive start. The other reporters suggest everything from fairytale concepts to stage makeup to sneaker trends, but none of their ideas make Viktor’s expression waver. He waves them off, one-by-one, and the tension in the room only grows.

Finally, everyone has made a suggestion or two, and Viktor has only listed a single one on the board with a question mark (Chris proposed an article breaking down newly-trending silhouettes with a silhouetted photoshoot, and Viktor had only remarked that it might work for a non-feature.)

“Next,” Viktor says.

Yuuri is typing furiously, this time mostly understanding the words used. It’s only after about thirty silent seconds pass that he looks up and realizes that everyone is staring at him.

“Um,” he fumbles. “Is. Uh. Is there something on my face?”

“Your idea, Katsuki,” Viktor says flatly. “We don’t have all day.”

“I… I didn’t think you wanted my idea?” Yuuri feels faint.

“What makes you think you’re so special that _everyone_ doesn’t apply to you? An idea, please. Now.”

_Crap._ What is he supposed to say? It’s not like Yuuri has any good ideas for a feature in a magazine. He doesn’t even have any interesting experiences. To be honest, he’s just a—”

“Katsuki!”

“ _Failure!”_ Yuuri blurts out instinctively, finishing his thought aloud.

Everyone looks at him strangely.

“Failure?” To Yuuri’s surprise, Viktor looks intrigued. “What do you mean, failure?”

“Um, no, never mind, it was a mis—”

“No, I’m interested. Please explain.”

Yuuri tries to come up with something as fast as he can. “I. Well. I was just thinking. There are so many people that fail.” Viktor’s apparent intrigue fades quickly, and somehow, the loss of that expression drives Yuuri to keep going. “Like… actors that make a bad movie, or authors whose first book didn’t sell, or… or athletes that get injured. You could find and photograph people like that, and interview them about their failure, and then how they overcame it. Like a come-from-behind kind of story.”

Viktor’s eyes narrow, but this time it’s not in a judgmental way. Yuuri knows this expression. It means he’s considering. “It would be more of a lifestyle approach, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. We took a style-heavy approach this month, maybe we could relegate the trend articles to the smaller sections for this issue.” He claps suddenly. “Okay. We have a suggestion, and I’ll think on it. Thank you everyone! Meeting dismissed.”

Yuuri feels like he’s in a daze as Viktor walks out of the room. Is this real? Did Viktor just… like his idea?

“Hey, nice job, Yuuri,” Chris tells him, clapping him on the back. “I think he actually liked your idea.”

Yuuri has no idea why. “Uh,” he says. “Yeah.” He looks back to his screen, busying himself with recording the last of the meeting notes.

“Maybe you’re cut out for more than you think, eh?”

Before Yuuri can ask him what that means, Chris is gone.

/ / /

An hour later, Yuuri brings Viktor the meeting notes. He stands there as Viktor reads them, silently challenging him to find a mistake.

_Go on,_ Yuuri thinks. He’s checked and re-checked them twice, and he _knows_ they’re flawless.

“Dismissed,” Viktor says finally, giving him a cursory glance. “Also, burn that tie. It’s hideous.”

_Ouch._ Maybe it’s the foolhardiness of his earlier success, but Yuuri is feeling daring today. He doesn’t leave. “If you don’t mind, I have something to ask.”

Viktor looks a little surprised. He looks up, then sits back and crosses his arms over his chest, almost defensive. “And?”

“Why is it that you’re like this to me?” Yuuri asks, squaring his shoulders. “I did what you asked. I made a suggestion at the meeting. I fixed my notes. And out of nowhere, you choose to randomly insult my appearance?”

Now Yuuri really knows he’s caught Viktor off-guard, because his mouth drops open a little. “Mr. Katsuki, I didn’t mean it as an insult. I was trying to do you a favor! This is a fashion magazine, we expect a certain level of—”

“Oh, I see. Because it’s a fashion magazine, insults can be considered compliments? Then what was Friday? The ultimate compliment?”

“Mr. Katsuki,” Viktor says, his face drawing closed. “This is out of line. Your behavior Friday was unacceptable and I had every right to—”

Yuuri knows he should probably stop here, but somehow, now that it’s coming out, he can’t contain it. “To what? Yell at me, _specifically,_ more than any other person in this office?”

Viktor’s voice rises as his anger builds. “You want to know the truth? _Fine._ I hate seeing wasted potential. I think you have potential, _Katsuki,_ and I hate to watch you fumble around everywhere when you could be doing good work. I have high standards like _any_ good art director."

“Yes but that doesn’t give you license to be a complete _asshole_ about it.”

Yuuri regrets it as soon as he says it. He watches Viktor’s face go blank before he swivels his chair around to face the wall, expression hidden.

Viktor’s next words are so soft, Yuuri barely hears them. “Why does your name have to be Katsuki _Yuuri,_ out of all of the names in the world.”

His heart beats at a breakneck speed. “I… w-what did you say?”

There’s a deep, steadying breath. “You’re dismissed.”

“But—”

“I said, _you’re dismissed.”_

Yuuri realizes that it’s time to take the cue. He’s probably lucky that Viktor hasn’t fired him on the spot. Bowing slightly, he sneaks another glance at the back of Viktor’s head. “My apologies. Have a good rest of your day.”

Viktor doesn’t turn around as Yuuri leaves and shuts the door with a soft _click._

/ / /

Yuuri doesn’t see Viktor for the rest of the day and he couldn’t be more relieved. Even Chris can’t joke him out of the funk he’s in, and he moves robotically through his tasks until it’s time to head home.

Just as he’s about the leave, his supervisor shows back up at his desk. “Mr. Katsuki, what on earth have you been up to today? These edits are sloppy and you missed four typos in just the first article?”

Had he? Yuuri hardly knows what he’s been up to today. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, accepting the papers back. “I’ll redo it.”

“Make sure you do it _right_ this time,” the head reporter counters. She looks stressed, and Yuuri watches her go, slightly dazed.

Looks like he’s not going home.

The hours tick by, and if Yuuri hadn’t already been exhausted, he is now. His head is nodding as he types up a final copy of the articles.

Before he knows it, everything is fading away.

/ / /

“Yes, I know.”

Yuuri wakes up to Viktor’s voice echoing through the office. He opens one eye, then sees Viktor pace by and instinctively shuts it. He’s not sure why pretending to be asleep makes sense, but then again, he’s not really thinking at all lately when it comes to Viktor.

“No… it isn’t ranked number one. Well, not yet. But I wasn’t here for this whole issue, it’s the next one that’s… yes.”

Sleepily, Yuuri’s brain begins to process the English coming from Viktor’s mouth. What is he talking about, number one.

“I promise you that the anniversary issue will be the top in Japan. _Yes._ Yes, of course I know that it’s important! Haven’t you told me a hundred times that the Japan branch will be shut down if if I fail? It’s not going to happen! Just trust me for once, for heaven’s sake!”

It’s all that Yuuri can do not to jump up. Was he understanding correctly?

_Icon!_ Japan will be shut down if they don’t hit number one?

“I swear I’ll make this work. Yes. Okay. Talk to you on Friday. Goodbye.”

Viktor must have hung up the call, because Yuuri hears him (probably) swear in Russian. His shoes click against the floor as he paces, obviously agitated.

Yuuri’s curiosity gets the better of him, so he sits up cautiously, accidentally peering right into Viktor’s anxious face.

_“Yoshkin kot!”_ Viktor bursts out at the sight of him. “Katsuki, what the _hell_ are you doing here?”

“I… I fell asleep.” There’s no one else in the whole office, Yuuri registers in the dimmed evening light setting. He runs his fingers through his bedhead, as though he needs proof to show that that’s the truth. There is absolutely drool on his cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“How much did you hear?” Viktor demands. It’s not angry, exactly… more nervous than anything.

“I’m not sure. Some.” Viktor is staring at him, suddenly, and it’s making Yuuri turn red. “Is… is it true that they’ll shut down the company if we don’t hit number one?”

Viktor curses again. “Why were you hiding in here? You’re not supposed to know about that. No one is supposed to know!”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Yuuri defends, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “You could have checked to see if the office was actually empty. But… why is it a secret? Isn’t that something that everyone should know?”

“No!” Viktor says immediately. “Don’t tell anyone. You can’t. Understood?”

“Okay,” Yuuri agrees reluctantly. “But… why?”

“This is my responsibility, not anyone else’s.” Viktor buries his face in his hands, apparently trying to regain his composure. “Why… of all people… why you?”

“I won’t tell,” Yuuri says, getting to his feet. He has the sudden urge to reassure Viktor, especially now that he looks unexpectedly small and defeated. “I mean… I think you should. But I won’t make that decision for you.”

It’s quiet for a long moment. “Thank you.” Viktor doesn’t look at him. “I’m going to pack up and go home. You should too. Good night, Mr. Katsuki.”

Yuuri watches his retreating back, wondering what to think about this new development. “Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To send me messages, ask questions, or propose a duel, find me on tumblr @dahlkom!


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends~
> 
> Sorry this took forever to write. I wrote like, 75% of it directly after the last was posted, but then I moved back to university and my classes started and, well, to put it directly: I am Dying. I accidentally ended up taking an engineering physics course for my general science requirement and it's literally killing me. Like, absolutely kicking my ass. I am drowning in a horrible, horrible gross scummy pond called "calculating vector forces." Believe me when I tell you I would rather be writing the next chapter of this than solving calc-based physics problems to keep up with a bunch of male engineering students, but, well. My GPA leaves me no choice.
> 
> Also my Chinese class this year (for context: I major in Chinese, not physics. Or Engineering. Or math or science or STEM of literally any kind) is pretty difficult, which would be fine if I had any time to actually study characters, but guess who has no time for her actual major because of physics???
> 
> Okay, rant over. I do hope I can finish the next chapter faster! Some exciting things are planned for up next~
> 
> Enjoy this update!

Yuuri goes home in what feels like a fog of numbness.

Just thinking about the exchange he had had with Viktor makes his head spin. If it’s true that the entire company in Japan will potentially be shut down, why would Viktor keep it from them? Shouldn’t all the employees be working toward saving themselves?

Tiredly shrugging off his shoes as he enters his apartment, Yuuri shakes his head. Typical Viktor to hold everything in and to put all the burden on himself. No wonder he’s been kind of explosive lately. Not that it’s okay or anything, but knowing what he knows about Viktor, Yuuri can sort of get where it’s coming from.

As he hangs up his coat, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out.

**_???:_ ** _Hello Mr. Katsuki. This is your boss, Viktor Nikiforov. I got your number from the employee directory; I hope you don’t mind._

**_???:_ ** _I want to request that you don’t tell the other employees about what you heard today. I will let everyone know in time, but for now, this is only my responsibility. I am asking your understanding in this difficult situation._

Yuuri hesitates. He doesn’t agree, really, that it’s only Viktor’s responsibility, but it’s not as though he’s really in a position to make judgements about keeping secrets.

**_Katsuki Yuuri:_ ** _Please don’t worry. I won’t share information that isn’t mine to share._

Yuuri pauses again. chewing on his lip for a moment. Then, in a moment of decision, he saves Viktor’s contact in his phone.

/ / /

There’s an energy drink on Yuuri’s desk the next morning with the words “ _Thank you”_ written in English on the cap. It doesn’t register at first what it might be for.

When he asks Chris if it was from him, Chris just shook his head. Strange.

And then Yuuri looks up, suddenly realizes that the blinds over the large floor-to-ceiling windows of Viktor’s office are open for the first time ever. He can see directly in.

Viktor’s desk faces outward, and as Yuuri sits there, unable to peel his eyes away, he looks up.

Their eyes meet. Viktor stares back for a brief moment, expression unreadable as ever, then nods. As Yuuri looks down again, he realizes who must have left this gift, and what the _thank you_ is for.

It’s startling, at least for a moment. For the past week or so, it has been easy to defocus his own feelings about Viktor and his identity. After all, separating the Viktor who makes an entire magazine run at the snap of his fingers and the gentle, round-cheeked boy who used to cuddle his baby poodle in his jacket when they walked by the sea wasn’t exactly a difficult task.

But something like this—a moment of kindness that is so characteristic of his childhood friend—makes it hard to forget who Viktor really is.

Yuuri is so engrossed in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Viktor emerging from his office; he only looks up when Viktor’s voice booms across the office.

“We’ve decided our theme for the anniversary issue,” Viktor announces, and that grabs everyone’s attention. “We will be organizing our feature around the theme of failure.”

Yuuri stares. Blinks, shakes his head to clear it, then stares again. They’re really going to use his idea? _His?_ For their anniversary issue? The one that’s supposed to save their company? Yuuri wants to protest, to say that the stakes are too high to use _his_ idea, but then remembers that no one knows about it.

Viktor really, really should tell them.

There’s a shuffling around the office as everyone waits for more explanation. Viktor, looking surprisingly vulnerable under everyone’s gaze, scratches at the nape of his neck. “We’ve got three leads. Minako, you’ll set up the first interview. I want to try and get Yamada Tsuyoshi.”

The lead reporter’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t question it, simply flicking open a notepad and taking notes. Yuuri considers this choice, then nods slowly. It’s a good idea; the person in question was the current number one coach in Japan, a position which he’d had to climb back to after famously being banned from tournaments for taking money to throw a match. Done right, it will make a compelling story.

“Hisashi, I want you to pursue an interview with Tanaka Shota.”

It’s another good idea, Yuuri silently thinks. At the height of his acting career in 2013, Tanaka had overdosed and done jail time. Since being released, he’s been climbing back up through side roles in movies, as well as being an outspoken advocate for mental health resources and rehab programs.

“I will personally work on contacting Esmé Perrault, since I’ve worked with her brand before. Any other ideas for the article should be directed toward me.” This said, Viktor abruptly walks out of the office, leaving everyone else whispering in his wake.

This one, Yuuri is lost on. He turns to Chris, curious. “Who’s the last person?”

“You don’t know the brand _Perisme?”_ Chris asks, slightly aghast. “It’s a top French designer label. Esmé Perrault is the founder.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says. “But… why interview this person for an article on failure?”

“Hmm…” Chris taps a finger against his chin. “Let’s see… if I remember correctly, when she was starting out, there was a huge scandal as her designs were leaked and stolen by a larger, more established label. Her brand nearly went bankrupt at that time.”

“That would make sense.” Yuuri agrees as he processes the story. “I guess he knows what he’s doing.”

“Viktor seems to work well when he’s inspired,” Chris comments lightly, giving Yuuri a glance loaded with something unexplainable before turning back to his computer.

Whatever that means. Yuuri looks back to his own work, choosing not to dwell on the uncomfortable.

/ / /

Even Yuuri can tell that his work is improving daily. He’s up nights still, studying everything from the difference between _toner_ and _essence_ and _serum_ to what prints should be mixed, the names of each different skirt cut to the different camera angles used during photoshoots. During the day he plugs away at his edits, dashes around following Toyomura and Minami and Nishigori everywhere with armfuls of clothing or makeup or equipment, and occasionally gets dragged out for coffee with Chris. His own wardrobe doesn’t experience any marked transformations, but he can mostly chalk that up to not having any money.

He doesn’t wear that ice-blue tie again.

It’s around four days later when Yuuri comes in and immediately notices that something is different. Most of the staff have already arrived, but Viktor’s office is conspicuously empty.

It’s odd. Viktor is usually there long before Yuuri arrives.

Shrugging it off, Yuuri sits down to the stack of work already waiting next his computer. However, even after a few hours, Yuuri suddenly looks up and sees that it’s noon. Viktor’s office is still empty.

“The boss is out today,” Chris purrs, scooting his wheeled chair back to lean against Yuuri’s desk. Indignant, Yuuri is about to protest that he hadn’t been asking, but Chris lays one finger against Yuuri’s lips. _“Shhh,”_ he says, a tiny smug smile tugging at his own face. “Your eyes were asking for you.”

Whatever _that_ means. Yuuri rolls his eyes and refocuses on his computer, determined. Then he pauses. “So… did you hear _why_ our boss is away today?”

“Oh, so you _are_ curious!”

“You brought it up!”

“Fine, fine. I don’t know. Minako told me that it’s personal business.”

Yuuri immediately wonders what kind of personal business it could be. I _s it Viktor’s father? A friend? A girl… friend?_

“Don’t let your mind stray too far down any nervous paths,” Chris grins. “I hear Viktor is single.”

Yuuri glares. Chris is dangerously close to being a mind-reader and it’s occasionally really irritating. “Why should I care?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Chris’s voice fades slightly as he scoots his way back to his desk. “Just in case you were curious.”

Yuuri is mentally forming a choice expletive to illustrate to himself exactly just how much he does _not_ care about that particular piece of information when he’s interrupted by his supervisor.

“Mr. Katsuki,” Reporter Okukawa says, her heels tapping daintily up to his desk. “I have a request for you.”

“Yes?” Yuuri looks up expectantly, assuming she wants him to take on another chore left undone by Nishigori or Minami.

Standing up straighter, his supervisor adjusts the pencil behind her ear. “I want you to write an article for this next issue.”

Oh. That’s… _oh._ Yuuri immediately shakes his head. “I couldn’t! I’m not a reporter or anything, I mean, I’ve never…”

“I’ve seen your work and the edits you make on other people’s articles. I think that you could write a fine article.”

The compliment hits him in the gut like a truck. She—their lead reporter—thinks that _Yuuri_ could write an article for their anniversary issue? But… there’s no way he could do it. He’d let everyone down; especially when this has to be the best issue ever. Their jobs all depend on it.

Maybe if he didn’t know about the stakes of this issue, he’d be willing to give it a try, but Yuuri can’t let himself be the reason that everything fails.

He shakes his head again, more slowly this time. “I’m sorry. I’m not cut out for it. I’ll just stick to editing, please.”

Something vaguely like disappointment registers on Reporter Okukawa’s face. “Well,” she says. “It’s up to you.” She turns to walk away, then pauses. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Thank you.” Yuuri watches her go, lost in thought.

He knows he won’t change his mind, and he’s grown good at not entertaining any _what ifs._

/ / /

The weekend arrives eventually, and Yuuri gets his first paycheck. The first thing he does on his way home from work is to go to the bank and send his parents the full amount needed to replace their water filtration system. The rest (aside from a very small amount of grocery money) he pays toward his student loans. After all these years of slowly paying them off through waiting tables and night shifts in convenience stores, he doesn’t have all too much left to pay. If he’s frugal with groceries next month, too, he might even be able to finish paying them off.

Despite knowing that he’d just blown nearly his whole paycheck, Yuuri feels light as he heads home, taking anshortcut through the neighborhood park. He’s never been able to help out much with family expenses, a fact which had always ate at him. It feels good to provide for them insomuch as he can.

Now he just has to make sure that he still has a job after this next month.

Yuuri is so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t see the fuzzy moving cannonball heading his way until it nearly bowls him over.

_“Makkachin!”_ a heavily Russian-accented voice yells, and Yuuri starts.

_What?_

Regaining his balance, Yuuri focuses on the friendly, panting poodle trying to climb up into his arms. The dog looks exactly like an older version of the one-year-old puppy Makkachin that Yuuri had once known.

“Makkachin!” the person holding his leash calls again, tugging the poodle back down to the ground. Then there’s something in most-likely-Russian that Yuuri doesn’t understand.

Yuuri’s eyes trail up Makkachin’s leash to rest on the blond teenager scowling at them both. He looks young—twelve, maybe thirteen. It’s hard to tell sometimes.

“What the hell are you looking at?”

It takes a minute for Yuuri to process the English sentence that’s been practically spat in his direction. He tries to remember how to speak. “I… um… you…”

“What’s your problem? You can’t talk or something?”

Yuuri gathers his wits about him quickly. “Sorry. You remind me of someone.” Focusing again on Makka, he squats down to the ground to scratch behind his ears. “His name is… Makkachin?”

The teenager scowls. “Yeah. My stupid stepbrother named him that.”

_Could it be?_ Yuuri mind is racing so much that he doesn’t even care that he’s staring. He wants to ask more questions, but he can tell that the kid is itching to get going, so he gives Makkachin one last pat and then stands up. “Thank you for letting me pet your dog.”

“Whatever.” The kid shrugs, then walks off.

_Stepbrother,_ Yuuri thinks as he watches him leave. _Huh._ His phone buzzes suddenly in his pocket, and Yuuri pulls it out, answering it in a kind of fog without even looking at the contact. “Hello?”

“Yuuri,” Chris’s voice drawls, velvety even over the phone speaker. “Let’s go drinking!”

It’s not the first time Chris has asked this, and Yuuri always says no. “What makes you think I’m going to say yes this time?” Yuuri smiles despite himself.

“When’s the next time you’ll have a drinking buddy this desperately gorgeous?”

“I’m hanging up—”

“Also it’s Friday?”

Yuuri considers this. It _is_ Friday, after all, and Phichit is working late tonight. Yuuri has also just gotten paid, and it’s been a stressful month.

“So…?”

_Fuck it._ “Yeah, yeah, okay. Where should I meet you?”

/ / /

There is a reason that Yuuri doesn’t drink often. It doesn’t help that Chris had announced that tonight was on him, and Yuuri has no self restraint. After a can or two of beer, cans number three, four, five, and six seem to disappear without explanation from their table for two in the outdoor tent-covered bar that they were sitting in.

“I bet Yuuko that you were a cutesy drunk,” Chris announces, his chin rested innocently on one hand.

“M’re like a _sexy_ drunk,” Yuuri giggles into the table. He’s far too gone to care about how he looks. “In college I used t’ pole dance, sometimes. People thought I was a real stripper n’ gave me money n’ stuff.”

Chris’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh? Fascinating. I guess I owe her money.”

“Toyomura guessed that?”

“Well, she and Takeshi did.”

Yuuri groans, reaching for another drink. “Is ev’ryone guessing my drinking habits?”

“Well… not everyone. It’s not like any of us gossip with Viktor.”

At the mention of that name, Yuuri one-shots the next beer. “Fuck him,”he says decisively.

Chris stares. “That’s a declaration I wasn’t expecting, I have to admit.”

Yuuri nods. “Well. He deserves to be fucked. Fuck him.” His chin droops back down to the table, movements sloppy. “Such… such an _asshole_. I shoulda told him when he yelled at me. You ‘member when he yelled at me, right? He’s… _asshole_.” Yuuri gestures vaguely with one hand.

Chris, to his credit, holds back all but half of a snort-laugh. “You want to tell off our boss?”

“Yeah!” Yuuri punches the air. “I should! I… hold on.” He pats his jeans pockets for about thirty seconds before finding his phone, then shuffles it out and looks for something.

“Yuuri, what are you…”

“Telling ‘im off!” Yuuri announces as he hits _call._

Realizing what’s happening, Chris reaches across the table, trying to grab Yuuri’s phone away from him, but Yuuri ducks out of his reach, giggling. “He’s not… not picking up. Oh! Voicemail!"

“Yuuri, don’t, you’re going to—”

“VIKTOR!” Yuuri shouts into the phone loudly enough to get the attention of everyone in the tent. “Yes, YOU!”

Chris looks torn between holding in laughter and desperately trying to stop him. Yuuri moves further out of his reach.

“I wanna know… something! Why’re you so mean?” Yuuri moves to cradle the phone in front of him, yelling into the speaker. “I don’t… don’t get it! If you knew who I was you’d never… never! Be so mean!” He pauses, surprised to find tears on his cheek, and wipes them away with his sleeve. “You wanna know who I am? I’m _Katsuki Yuuri!”_

It’s at that exact moment when Chris dashes over and plucks the phone out of Yuuri’s hand, hitting the _end call_ button. Yuuri hardly notices, wiping furiously at the tears leaking from his eyes. “I’m _Katsuki Yuuri,_ Viktor! Your childhood friend! Your…” He breaks down then, crying into his folded arms on the table.

A hand comes to rest on his back, patting awkwardly. “You okay?” Chris asks, perching beside him.

Yuuri sniffles, and the tears cease, leaving only red eyes and a runny nose in their wake. “Fine,” he says, rubbing roughly at his nose with his sleeve.

“I think it’s probably time to go home,” Chris suggests, taking his appearance in, and Yuuri is too far gone to protest. He lets himself be guided to his feet and out of the tent by gentle hand, mind blank except for the sensation of rushing in his ears.

/ / /

“Yuuri, are you awake?”

Yuuri blinks his eyes open to Phichit standing over him, staring. “Hi,” he says faintly, then grabs his head. “ _God,_ my head hurts.” He closes his eyes and rolls over. “No. Not awake.”

“You are now!” Phichit grabs his arm and hoists him up, handing him a bottle of hangover cure. “Reason being that you are sleeping off your hangover on the couch that I want to use to watch _Gossip Girl._ ”

“I hate you,” Yuuri mumbles mildly, opening the bottle and chugging it. “Ugh. I feel like absolute trash.”

“Well _that’s_ a surprise,” Phichit snorts, “Considering how drunk you were last night.”

Last night. He’d… wait. “H-how did I get home last night?” Yuuri asks, realizing how little he remembers past his first few drinks with Chris.

“Your handsome blond coworker brought you. You know, the one whose shoes you threw up on at the door.”

“I… _what?”_

“It was pretty gross,” Phichit says reflectively. “You probably owe him an apology for that.”

_Oh god…_ what else had Yuuri done while inebriated? He slaps his hands over his face, embarrassed. “Anything else I should know?”

“You really don’t remember? Damn, Yuuri. You need to learn moderation when you drink.”

“Tell me about it,” Yuuri mutters. He spots his phone on the coffee table and picks it up, going through his messages. There’s a missed call from Phichit sometime the night before, and Yuuri taps on it to get rid of the notification. He’s about to switch apps when he notices something underneath Phichit’s call that makes him freeze.

_9:43 PM OUTGOING CALL: Viktor Nikiforov_

“Oh, _shit,”_ Yuuri says. “Shit. _Shit shit shit.”_

“Geez, Yuuri, that’s quite a mouthful. What’s up?”

“Phichit,” Yuuri whispers with growing horror. “I called Viktor last night.”

“While… drunk?”

“While drunk,” Yuuri confirms.

Phichit stares. “Shit,” he agrees. “What did you say?”

“I don’t remember!” Yuuri moans, smacking his forehead. “I don’t remember _anything!”_

Always a quick thinker, Phichit has an idea. “Call Chris,” he suggests. “He can probably tell you how much damage is done.”

“Oh! Yes. You’re right. Yes.” With shaking hands, Yuuri searches through his contacts until he finds Chris’s number, then hits _call_.

Chris picks up on the seventh ring. “Why _hello,_ Yuuri. You’re up early considering what happened last night.”

Yuuri winces. “Sorry for… um… your shoes. I’ll replace them, I promise. Also, are you free for coffee? I’ll pay."

“Now?”

“Um… sure?”

“Well, I never say no to a good date. As much as I’d love to come meet you now, I am regretfully very naked and unshowered. How about at eleven?”

Yuuri pushes that mental image out of his mind. “Uh, yes, that sounds great. See you then!”

Around an hour and a half later, Yuuri finds himself showered, presentably dressed, and waiting outside the nearest Starbucks for his coworker to arrive.

Chris is, as always, impressively punctual. “Hello there, Yuuri. I’m happy to hear that seeing me once a weekend isn’t enough.”

Yuuri offers an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry again. It was probably a lot of trouble to take me home last night.”

“Well… there were some memorable moments.” Chris winks. “Shall we get coffee?”

Once their orders are placed and they’ve found a seat, Yuuri leans across the table. “Chris… I’m so sorry to ask this, but can you tell me what happened last night?”

“Ah.” Chris leans back in his chair. “I wondered if you would remember. Well, you called our boss.”

“Yes,” Yuuri says miserably. “I saw it in my call history. What did I say?”

“Hmm…” Chris taps his finger against his chin pensively. “It went to voicemail, and then you called him some choice words, for one.”

Concerning, but not as bad as Yuuri feared. He nods. “And…?”

“Then you said something like ‘If you knew who I was you wouldn’t treat me like this,’ and yelled your name into the phone.”

Yuuri freezes.

“And then I took the phone from you and ended the call.”

Yuuri can breath again. “Thank _god.”_

“And then you said something about being childhood friends,” Chris continues, “Viktor didn’t hear that, but I can’t help being a little curious, to be honest."

So he’d outed himself to Chris, then, even if not to Viktor. Yuuri buries his face in his hands. “I can trust you… right?”

“Of course.” Chris looks wounded. “I might know lots of things, but I can keep a secret when it’s entrusted to me.”

Yuuri nods. He wants to trust him, but this just feels so high stakes…

“l’ll tell you a secret too. I have a baby.”

_What?_ Yuuri stares at him as though he’s just grown antlers. How on earth…? Did Chris adopt? Is Yuuri’s gaydar broken? Because he was like, 99% sure that Chris is…

“Here she is,” Chris says, handing over his phone. Yuuri takes it, then laughs. It’s a picture of an extremely round, fluffy white cat. “Her name is Uschi.”

Yuuri can’t help but laugh. It’s a little ridiculous, but somehow this does bring down his anxiety. “She’s beautiful.”

“Also, I’m adopted. My Japanese parents took me in when my biological parents died at age 9.”

Yuuri nods, taking that in as well. It’s an unusual story, but then again, Chris is an unusual person. And it explains why he speaks Japanese without an accent. He waits for a moment, wondering if Chris will tell him more, but just then their coffee comes, and the topic seems to be closed.

“So,” Chris says, sipping at his latte, “childhood friends?”

Yuuri sighs, decides that it’s too late to hide anything, and tells Chris the whole story all the way from when they met as children to how he’d been avoiding Viktor for the last several weeks.

Chris listens without interrupting or reacting beyond a few eyebrow raises. When Yuuri finishes, he’s quiet for a moment. “Why do you think he’d be unsatisfied?” he asks after a long pause. “If he met you again now, as yourself.”

“Because I look like _this.”_ Yuuri stares into his untouched americano. “And I’m kind of a failure.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Yuuri.” Chris levels an even gaze at him. “You’re cute as hell and now you have a good job, too.”

“You’re just saying that,” Yuuri replies glumly. “And… well, even if I have a job now, I’m still the lowest person in the entire office despite being older than many of the other employees. And Viktor is… he’s this rich, successful, talented person. Things can’t be like they were when we were younger.”

“But why would Viktor expect that?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “It’s just… it’s too hard to explain.”

“Listen, I can’t tell you what to do. I’m just saying that you’re being a bit unfair to Viktor—and to yourself.”

“To be honest,” Yuuri admits with a sigh, “I regret it sometimes. Doing things like this, I mean. It’s not fun to hide away from him. But it’s not like I can go back now. I’m in far too deep.” He trails off, staring into his coffee as his heart forms ideas too complex for his head to process.

“If you say so, Yuuri.” Chris cocks his head, chin resting in one hand. “It’s the choice you’ve made.”

It is. Yuuri knows that.

And, well. He’ll just have to bear the consequences of it.

Chris clears his throat, obviously ready to change the subject. “Shall we order cake?”

Yuuri’s head perks up, then he remembers who’s paying. “Um…”

“You did throw up on my shoes…”

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees quickly. “It seems that cake is in order.”

/ / /

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Are you doing well, Yuuri?_

Phichit looks up from the paperwork he’s working through in his office, surprised to see a text from Viktor. It’s been a fairly long silence, longer than is typical for him.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Long time no text, hmm?_

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Yeah, I’m fine_

He settles into his chair, waiting for a reply as he sees the _typing_ bubble pop up.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _It’s been… busy. I’ve had to deal with some family issues recently_

So even Viktor has a life, it seems. Phichit is intrigued.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Oh? What kind of family issues?_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Long story… my stepmother is in the hospital so I’m helping out with my stepbrother for a while._

This information is all foreign to Phichit, but when it comes to family issues, he’s an expert. His heart goes out to the other man, just a little bit.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _I see… I’m really sorry. Are you okay?_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Yeah, it’s okay. I’m not particularly close with her or my stepbrother anyway—I guess maybe you haven’t heard all this, since we haven’t caught up. But I have to help for my father’s sake, and I can’t just let this fifteen-year-old fend for himself._

So his stepbrother is young. He has a new respect for Viktor, hearing this; he may not be a kind boss, but at least he’s there for his family.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Anyway… I was thinking about you lately. There’s someone I know that reminds me of you, kind of, and something happened with him the other day that made me think of you._

Reflecting on Yuuri’s post-drinking panic, Phichit can guess what that might have been.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Haha, that’s funny. Someone that reminds you of me?_

It’s probably best to play dumb.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Yeah… funny._

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _I better get back to work. I hope you have a good night~!_

Phichit kind of wants to write something more reassuring, something to give comfort to someone else in the middle of a broken and falling-apart family, but after typing and deleting five messages he convinces himself that it’s too dangerous to play that game.

He chooses to stay safe.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Good night. :)_

/ / /

At work on Monday, Yuuri can’t get his mind off of the offer his supervisor had given him the week before. It’s frustrating, because Yuuri knows that he can’t write an article. Imagine— _him_ writing for the magazine?

But the idea won’t leave him alone. There’s a tinge of regret to his decision that’s driving him crazy and he can’t seem to shake it no matter how hard he lectures himself.

He’s standing next to his desk, paused mid-errand, staring at a page of text but really being distracted by the name under the title (a place where his own name would be, were he the kind of person who could write articles) when something small and furious slams into him.

“Ow!” Yuuri yelps, ducking aside. Then—“Oh, it’s you!”

“You!” the blond teenager fumes in English. “The weird dog guy from the park!”

“Why are you here?” Yuuri asks, though he has a guess or two.”

“I’m looking for my annoying-ass stepbrother,” he says, scowling. “He’s supposed to take me to a school meeting and he _forgot.”_

So Yuuri had been right. He doesn’t know if this news is more confusing or amusing.

Chris, on the other hand, is more surprised. “You’re Viktor’s brother!”

“S _tep_ -brother,” the kid insists, grimacing, as if the implication of any further closeness in their relationship pains him. “Who are _you?”_

“I’m Chris,” Chris tells him, looking amused. “And this is Yuuri.”

The kid’s face changes. “No, I’m Yuri.”

Yuuri blinks. Huh? “You… what?”

He takes a step closer. “I said, that’s _my_ name. _My_ name is Yuri. You think you can steal my name, you weird dog-man?”

For being a fairly normal name, Yuuri thinks, his given name does seem to get him a lot of flak. Still, the kid can’t be more than fourteen at most, and his attempts at being fierce are more cute than intimidating. He doesn’t particularly frighten Yuuri. “Maybe we can share it?” He suggests, raising a shoulder in question.

“Psh. I don’t share.” The kid (Yuri, apparently) backs down. “Where’s Viktor?”

They both point to his office.

Yuri starts, then hesitates. He pulls out it phone and shoves it at Yuuri.

“Hmm?” Yuuri stares at the phone, then back to Yuri, confused.

“Your number. Put it in.”

Yuuri gapes at him.

“I’m not backing down. We can’t have the same name. First that one dude that Viktor will not _shut up_ about, then _you?_ As if. I need to be able to fight you later.”

Too amused by this to argue further, Yuuri takes the kid’s phone and punches in his number before handing it back to him.

Apparently satisfied, Yuri breezes by in the direction of Viktor’s office. “Catch you later, weirdo.”

Chris and Yuuri both watch him go in awe.

“I think weirdness runs in the family,” Chris comments mildly.

Yuuri is inclined to agree.

/ / /

**_???: Hi loser_ **

Yuuri stares at the text as it appears on his phone in the middle of him eating dinner. Who does he know that would text him in English? And like this?

**_Katsuki Yuuri: Who are you…?_ **

**_???: You stole my name. I’m keeping track of you_ **

Realizing who it is, Yuuri’s concern breaks down into a snicker.

**_Katsuki Yuuri: What is your name, exactly?_ **

**_???: Yuri Plisetsky. I’m the better Yuri._ **

Still amused, Yuuri inputs the name into his contacts. So this is Viktor’s stepbrother. Interesting.

**_Katsuki Yuuri: And what do you want with me, better Yuri?_ **

**_Yuri Plisetsky: Keeping an eye on the competition_ **

**_Yuri Plisetsky: This isn’t the last you’ll hear of me, weird dog-park man_ **

This makes Yuuri roll his eyes. He doesn’t reply to that, switching back to the Instagram feed that he’d been scrolling through. He can’t help but wonder about this Yuri. When did he show up in Viktor’s life? Why was he here, in Japan, all of a sudden?

Not for the first time, Yuuri wishes that he knew what was going on in Viktor’s life.

Only a little bit, though. Isn’t it natural to be curious?

**/ / /**

Standing at the entrance of his father’s enormous house, Phichit shrugs off his shoes, handing his coat to the butler. It’s a natural movement, though it wasn’t always; not before he’d moved back to Korea.

He still kind of hates how much he’s used to this house.

Gift in hand, Phichit trudges down the hallway to the dining room, where he knows that his father is. Well, and _her._ He doesn’t often go home—because of his stepmother—but it’s hard to avoid on his father’s birthday. Phichit is at least _that_ good of a son.

“Hi,” he murmurs as he enters the room, slinking past the butler before he can _announce_ him or something equally unnecessary.

His father and stepmother are already seated, and his father grins at the sight of him. “Phichit! You’ve arrived!”

“Happy birthday,” Phichit says dutifully, handing over his gift. It’s just a tie—impersonal, expensive, fitting for this kind of occasion.

“Thank you,” his father says, accepting it without opening it.

He sits, and dinner is served; it’s steak, of course. His father’s favorite. “You look tired,” his father notes, cutting into his meal with the practiced elegance of one who eats European food on the regular.

Phichit shrugs. “I’ve been working a lot lately.”

“Good.” His father nods curtly. “I’ve been hearing positive reports from your supervisor. If it keeps up, you could have his position soon—or maybe something even better.”

Shrugging again, Phichit takes a sip of water. He doesn’t really want to go higher into management; he prefers being in the kitchen at least a little bit, even if it’s mostly just helping out the other staff.

“I heard you’ve been clubbing,” his stepmother says suddenly. She smiles at him, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “No wonder you look so tired.”

Not willing to give her the victory of eye contact, Phichit stabs at an asparagus spear with his fork. “How do you know that?”

“It’s for your own good. I just want to know you’re okay.”

So she’s been stalking him. _Great._

The tense silence that follows is broken by Phichit’s father’s phone ringing. He picks it up, then frowns. “This is work. I’ll be right back.” Nodding apologetically at Phichit, his father steps out of the room, leaving his wife and son alone together.

“You do know that you can’t be seen making a fool out of yourself like this,” Phichit’s stepmother continues.

“So what if I do?” Phichit snorts, defensive. “It’s none of your business.”

“It _is_ my business!” she insists, eyes narrowing. “You know full well what kinds of rumors could spread if people hear that your father’s son is sleeping around at Tokyo nightclubs with all kinds of _men!”_

“Oh, so this is about me being gay, is it—”

“No, it’s about you taking after your mother and acting like a _whore—”_

“Ha, as if _you_ can talk about being a whore!”

_“Phichit Chulanont,”_ his father rumbles from the doorway. “How _dare_ you speak that way to your mother!”

Phichit springs to his feet, spitting mad. “This _woman_ is not my mother.”

“Apologize this instant.”

“She called me a w—"

Two steps bring Phichit’s father across the room, and before Phichit really knows what happened his cheek is stinging under the hard _crack_ of his father’s hand against his cheek.

“Do _not_ disrespect my wife,” he thunders.

Phichit glares back at him, refusing to touch the stinging pain in his cheek—to admit defeat. “There’s no way I could ever disrespect any partner of yours more than you have,” he says quietly. “Excuse me.” Turning on his heel, he stalks out of the room.

It takes Phichit around fifteen minutes—until he hits the first red light in his car on his way home—to realize that he’s crying. It creeps up around the edges of his vision, blurring his sight, and it only takes him a few seconds to register that he should pull off to the side the road.

He winds up sitting on the edge of a side street in a quiet neighborhood, crying into his hands, when his phone lights up. It’s his dad, texting him to come back.

Phichit deletes the text, and is about to set his phone back down, when an idea occurs to him. He hesitates, but not for long—his brain isn’t really calibrated for caution at the moment.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Hey_

There’s no guarantee that Viktor will respond right away, of course. Why should he? It’s not like he waits for Yuuri’s texts twenty-four hours a day, right—

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _Hey, Yuuri~!_

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _What’s going on? Are you all right?_

Well… maybe Phichit is wrong.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Yeah, of course!_

Phichit bites his lip, then reconsiders the message he’d just sent.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Well, actually… not really._

Outdoors, it begins to rain, splattering against Phichit’s windshield in the dim evening light.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _What happened?_

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _I don’t know. Just… just some family stuff, I guess._

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _It’s complicated…_

As his mind flits back to the scene from earlier, Phichit’s cheek stings anew as though he’s been slapped a second time. His chest tightens.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _I’m so sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it on the phone?_

That brings Phichit back to reality. There’s no way they can talk on the phone—Viktor will surely be able to notice that his voice is different than the one that Viktor’s heard over the phone before. Nor can he tell him about the actual issues he’s having, obviously.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _No, I can’t talk now, sorry._

There’s radio silence from Viktor’s end of the conversation after that, and Phichit wonders if he’s upset Viktor. Of course, that’s not the only option. Viktor could be busy.

Then—his phone lights up.

**_Viktor Nikiforov:_ ** _[new voice message]_

Curious, Phichit taps _play._

_“Hi Yuuri,”_ Viktor’s voice filters through the phone. Phichit listens, fascinated; he’s never heard Viktor’s voice before. His Japanese is as good as expected, though his accent is noticeable. _“I’m sorry you’re having a hard time. Family problems can hit the hardest—but you and I know that well, don’t we? I wish I could comfort you in person, but since I can’t, I bet this will help!”_ There’s a pause, then a joyful yipping noise. Was that a dog? _“Makka says not to give up! And that he misses you and to come home soon so he can see you. So stick it out, okay? It’s not easy to be far from home and figuring things out in a foreign place, but you’ve always been strong. I know you can do it!”_

Even if it’s cheesy as hell, it does make Phichit smile. Hearing Viktor’s voice is like seeing a character come to life. He’s no longer just a photo, or a distance figure down the aisle of the grocery store, but rather a living, breathing person. It’s a lot harder to disassociate from a real person than a a picture and words on a phone screen.

And, well. He’d sent comfort when Phichit needed it most, even if Viktor doesn’t know the real story.

Maybe, just maybe, Phichit is a bit thankful that Yuuri had given Viktor his number.

**_Yuuri Katsuki:_ ** _Thanks. It means a lot. :)_

**/ / /**

It’s the weekend, and Yuuri is planted on the sofa, munching on shrimp chips. It’s the one time when Yuuri is supposed to be able to escape from the world, to not think about the shitshow that is his life, but no matter what, he can’t seem to shake that thing that’s still eating at him.

He’d already told his supervisor that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—write an article for the anniversary issue. It’s not like he has any ideas, anyway; what would he have done if he had accepted?

But at the same time, it’s been itching in the back of his mind whenever he has quiet moments. It’s strange—Yuuri, out of anyone, is hardly the kind of person to fear missing out on things. He’s proven to himself many times that he’d rather play it safe than risk failing.

And yet, this particular time, it’s surprisingly hard to let go of the _what ifs._

Trying to wave the idea from his mind, Yuuri shifts on the sofa and reaches for a remote. _The Japanese skating nationals are on today_ , he realizes as he channel-surfs. He might not have touched the ice for nearly ten years, but Yuuri still loves to watch the sport.

There are a lot of new faces this year, and some of them are really promising. Impressed, he watches a sixteen-year-old land a quad toe loop.

_Why don’t fashion magazines write about figure skaters?_ Yuuri wonders, then immediately freezes.

He could—

No.

No, he can’t. It’s the anniversary issue. He’s not going to do _anything_ that will put the magazine in jeopardy.

Yuuri frowns, changing the channel and trying to push the whispering _what ifs_ out of his mind.

**/ / /**

“First a brother and now a dog?” Chris asks lightly as Viktor passes.

Unexpectedly, Viktor pauses, sighing. “My dogsitter had a family emergency and my stepbrother is at school. He can’t stay at home for so long without anyone to feed him or take him out.”

Makkachin must smell Yuuri suddenly, because he begins to strain at the leash in the direction of Yuuri’s desk. Yuuri extends a hand to him without thinking, then guiltily looks up at the man holding the leash. “Um… is it okay if I…?”

Viktor’s face is softer, suddenly. “He seems to like you,” he notes.

Yuuri shrugs, tensing a little as he feels Viktor’s eyes follow Makkachin to his outstretched hand. Purposefully ignoring Viktor’s gaze, he strokes the the curly fur behind Makka’s ears, and Makka leans into it, quiet. “It’s probably just my lunch he’s smelling.”

Viktor doesn’t say anything else to that, and Yuuri stands up, even as Makka whines. He bows, awkward. “Have a good day,” he says stiffly.

Through the open blinds of Viktor’s office, Yuuri continues to sneak glances throughout the rest of the afternoon at Makka, who is curled up underneath Viktor’s desk. He’s grown so much since Viktor had first got him, Yuuri notes with a tinge of nostalgia.

As the afternoon drags on, Yuuri’s eyes begin to droop. “I’m going to run to the convenience store,” he tells Chris around three. “I need coffee. Want anything?”

“Unless you’re willing to buy me a beer, probably not.”

Yuuri snorts a bit. “Not on the job,” he agrees, and heads for the elevator.

He’s in line at the convenience store with his one-plus-one deal on canned coffee (it’s his lucky day), when he catches sight of some plastic-wrapped corn on the cob and hesitates.

As a puppy, Makkachin had loved corn. Yuuri had always secretly fed him under the table during dinner at the inn whenever Viktor hadn’t been looking.

And… well, it’s been a long day for a dog to sit through.

Thankfully when Yuuri returns, Viktor is away, presumably at some kind of meeting, and Makka is napping in the corner of his office with the door cracked. Noting that the blinds are now closed, giving him some privacy, Yuuri slips inside with the bowl of corn that he’s sliced off of the cob.

Makka’s head perks up the second Yuuri enters, probably smelling the corn. “Hey, buddy,” Yuuri says, reaching out to set the corn in front of him. “You’re hungry, right?”

Makka looks at him, whining a bit, and Yuuri nods. “Go ahead,” he says. “Eat.”

Whatever permission was needed has been apparently been given, because Makka sticks his head into the bowl and munches away. Yuuri, squatting down to the dog’s level, inches away to give him space, a smile creeping across his face. The scene transports him back to his childhood, when Makkachin had been a much smaller bundle of fluff, and things had been… different.

“What are you doing?”

Yuuri falls backward out of his carefully-balanced squat, limbs flailing in surprise as a squeak bursts from his mouth. He’d forgotten, for a moment, where he was, and Viktor’s sudden appearance had practically made him jump a meter into the air.

Viktor approaches, quizzically scanning over Yuuri’s sprawled form. “Are… are you feeding my dog?”

“No,” Yuuri says, staring at the underside of Viktor’s desk and absolutely anywhere else that isn’t the terrifyingly sharp cut of Viktor’s jaw.

The sound of heels tapping against the floor vibrates in Yuuri’s ears and Viktor moves past him toward Makka. “Is… Is that… corn?”

Yuuri stays silent this time.

“Katsuki. Do you mind getting off the floor of my office?”

That makes Yuuri pull himself to his feet, face absolutely flaming. “I’m so sorry. This won’t happen again. I will… um… go.”

“No, no, wait,” Viktor says, and this time Yuuri sneaks a look at his expression. To his surprise, he doesn’t look particularly angry. “I want to ask something?”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, a little frightened. He may not _look_ angry, but that doesn’t mean that Viktor isn’t upset.

“How did you know that Makkachin likes corn?”

“Oh, I, um. I had a dog for a while.” This isn’t a lie. “His… um… his favorite food was corn.” This is a lie. Viktor the dog had preferred choice bits of cooked salmon off of Mari and Yuuri’s dinner plates. “So. I, uh, thought your dog. Um. Looked hungry. Um, not that I thought you’re a bad dog owner, I just! Sorry. I’m sorry!” Yuuri is too flustered to be coherent, and he’s back to being unable to meet Viktor’s eyes again. His face feels so hot that he’s dizzy; it’s all hitting too close for comfort.

Too close to being discovered.

“You had a dog?”

Yuuri nods, nervous to the point of sweating. Another quick glance make him do a double take: Viktor is smiling.

“What was his name?”

“Huh?”

“Your dog.” Viktor kneels down next to Makka, scratching at his ears as he licks the bowl for the last pieces of corn. “What kind of dog was he?”

“Oh,” Yuuri stammers, thrown off by this odd reaction. “He was, um. A poodle. His name was Vik—Vicchan!”

Viktor’s eyebrows shoot up. “You had a poodle too?”

Yuuri nods, pressing his lips together firmly to keep himself from saying anything else stupid.

“I see.” Viktor gives Makka one last pat and stands up, too. “Thanks for giving him a treat. He obviously enjoyed it.”

Yuuri blinks at him. “No—no problem.”

“Have a good day,” Viktor finishes, looking at him meaningfully, and Yuuri takes his cue to leave.

He doesn’t realize that he’d been holding his breath until he leaves the office.

Jesus.

That had to have been the most positive interaction he’d ever had with Viktor. He’d almost… no, Yuuri can’t think about that.

He absolutely cannot begin to see his childhood friend in his boss. Not even if watching him with Makkachin reminds him a little too much about who Viktor really is.

_Compartmentalize, Yuuri._

He’d already chosen to separate past and present, and letting himself get so close to mixing the two had been a mistake.

This is too many mistakes for one week.

It’s time for Yuuri to pull himself together. If things are going to be prevented from falling apart, Yuuri has got to keep all thoughts of Viktor, his childhood friend, far from his mind.

The past is the past, and Yuuri needs to let those memories die, no matter how much his heart wants to hold on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr to chat, ask questions, or send me memes @dahlkom!


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